


All Applicants Welcome

by justbolts



Series: Inquire Within [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst and Humor, Anxiety Disorder, Civil War, Genocide, M/M, Plug and Play, Politics, Slow Build, Starscream - Freeform, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-11
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbolts/pseuds/justbolts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destitute and desperate, Bluestreak becomes the Cybertronian equivalent of a mail-order bride. A story about politics.</p><p> </p><p>TAGS and WARNINGS: May apply to future, unwritten chapters and are subject to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Situational Difficulty

**Author's Note:**

> **Continuity:** Marvel G1 inspired pre-war AU
> 
>  **Geography:** I'm playing a bit fast and loose with the geography of Cybertron and the location of it's city-state here, but it's all for a Greater Cause (plot device). For the purpose of this fic, Praxus shares a border with Vos to the North East, Protihex to the South and South West, and the Neutral Territories to the North West. They are closely allied with Protihex and the city-state Uraya, which sits opposite them across the Neutral territories. Vos borders Praxus and Tarn, with a length of the Rust Sea separating them the nearby Iacon.
> 
>  
> 
> **Time units:** Cybertron has a long, elliptical orbit around its sun; at the extreme ends of the orbit, it receives very little solar radiation, resulting in two light seasons and two dark seasons. A vorn is the length of time it takes Cybertron to complete an orbit, roughly eighty-three years. An orn is a single rotation of Cybertron on its axis; it is broken up into six shifts. Each shift is eight joor. Five orn make up a megacycle. A rotation is the time it takes the slowest of Cybertron's two moons to orbit the planet.
> 
> A joor is 1 and 1/4th hours  
> A shift is 10 hours  
> An orn is 60 hours  
> A megacycle is 12. 5 days, just shy of two weeks  
> A rotation is 60 day, or 8.5 weeks  
> A breem is 8.3 minutes.  
> A klik is just over a minute.  
> A nanoklik is a second.

There were sites and adverts for it all over the net, but according to his research, the legit requests were  _only_  posted through the official city network and accessible at the community hubs.

So the first thing he did after receiving yet another rejection notice was head to the local town square, tap in his citizenship code at the hub, and download that orn's repository of legally vetted 'Want' ads. It took a couple of breem to weed out the type he was specifically looking for, then a full joor to steadily pare it down to a list of half a dozen that fit his requirements, didn't creep him out too much, and that he had even a small chance of getting accepted for. This ended up being good timing, because a final eviction notice landed in his inbox right about then and he had to frantically drive home to confront his landmanager.

"I still have two more megacycles!" he said desperately, "You can't kick me out now!"

Heavyswipe just shook his helm. "I'm sorry about this, Bluestreak, I really am. But even if you find a job tomorrow you won't be able to work enough duty shifts to meet the housing requirements. I'm going have to fudge some documentation to avoid having to file a complaint against you as it is. You know that."

"I do know! But we still agreed I could stay until the end of the rotation," Bluestreak insisted, "It's not like the city is going to be fining you either way. I just don't understand what changed."

Heavyswipe made a face.

"My new agent with the city has got tighter bolts than the previous one," he said, "He saw the status of your contract and started sending me requests for eviction processing and potential new renters. It doesn't help that the list of low-income applicants for this place is longer than you are tall.

"You aren't the only mech I've bent the rules for, Bluestreak," Heavyswipe added in a lower voice when Bluestreak started to argue again, "I can't afford an audit right now. It'll cost me my license."

"B-but if you kick me out I don't have anywhere else to go. My friends can only put me up for so long and the creditors are always on my aft and -" Bluestreak struggled to think clearly past the rising surge of distress in his processor, fully aware that he was loosing hold. "- and I know it's not your fault you've done so much for me already it's just that it's not like I don't try to hold down a job and I've put out dozens of applications and -"

Heavyswipe put a hand on his shoulder. It was like a blade, cutting off the stream of helpless babble. Bluestreak locked down his vocalizer with a mix of embarrassment and relief.

"I'm sorry," Heavyswipe said again, kind but unmovable, "You have a joor to clear out."

He spent most of that time messaging friends and wandering aimlessly around his soon-to-be former apartment, trying to stay calm more than anything else. Anything of significant value had long been sold to make rent and bills, leaving him with a mix of maintenance supplies, keepsakes, and various borrowed items. He eventually gave up trying to make intelligent decisions about what to keep and what to leave, and just tossed whatever came to hand in his subspace. There was still more left over than he expected and he only hoped no one hated him too much for forgetting something that belonged to them.

Two of his friends sent replies at the same time Heavyswipe arrived to change the access codes and escort him off the grounds.

Of them, Sideswipe was the closest and since Bluestreak knew better than to drive in his current condition, he decided that was his best option.

Heavyswipe left him at the front gate with a final apology. "I'll refund you that two megacyles worth of rent. You should have it within the joor. Hopefully it'll help."

Bluestreak nodded silently, not trusting what would happen if he released the lock on his vocalizer. Those funds would, at most, pay for a quarter tank of fuel and a few recharge cycles at a rented charging dock. If that. He didn't want to think about what would happen when his other bills started coming due again.

He gripped Heavyswipe's hand in a formal farewell and started his several mile trek to Sideswipe's home. He avoided public transportation out of a mix of remembered embarrassment and fear.

The calm he'd been holding on to steadily began to break. Two miles out from his former home, he'd released his vocalizer without fully realizing it and was talking to himself about anything and everything. It earned him a mix of annoyed and weird looks from other mechs on the street, and not a few irritated requests to not answer his intercom out loud. He kept his optics focused on the ground and walked faster, not responding to anyone directly. Four miles out, he had his arms tightly wrapped himself and fingers digging into previously made dents in his shoulders. He was completely unaware that his self-talk had gone into incoherent mumbling.

Five miles out, the attack hit full force.

He barely managed to get himself out of the flow of foot traffic and into an empty access way. There, he hunkered down against a wall and got lost in a world of false errors and contradictorily alerts. One warning told him his engine was failing even has he felt it roar into its highest output; others screamed about multiple malfunctioning sensors even as those sensors snapped into hyper alert and flooded him with detailed reports of his surroundings. His various fluid tanks pinged him with both empty and overfull warnings, nearly causing him to purge them all in confused reaction. Every single joint tightened and pressurized to its limit, as if frozen at the edge of a transformation. Terror reigned, sending every thought and normally ordered process into shrieking chaos.

He felt like he was dying.

Afterwards, he'd learn it lasted for all of a kilk. At the time, it felt like forever. It always did. And like always, it ended suddenly. The mess of red and yellow warnings cluttering his HUD were smothered under an "Emergency Reboot Initiated" alert and with the briefest blip his entire system reset itself. His HUD cleared and all systems reported their previous status of normal operations. His body unlocked, relaxed, and his vents stretched open wide, sucking in air to cool his overstressed engine.

Relief at being back to normal thudded through him. It was fast followed by frustration and humiliation and a crushing sense of defeat. He was so tired of this.

His sensors alerted him to someone standing over him. He allowed himself a few more seconds to stew in his misery and embarrassment, before looking up to acknowledge the other mech.

A Protector unit. The mech hovered a carefully calculated distance away; far enough back not to crowd Bluestreak and to discourage other mechs from approaching, close enough to jump in and restrain him if needed. Bluestreak's log, now that he was coherent enough to pay attention to it, helpfully informed him that the mech's energy signature had been following him for close to a hundred meters. Someone had probably alerted the unit the moment Bluestreak started to act strange. Great.

"Uh, hi," Bluestreak said weakly, "Sorry about this. I would've found somewhere better to stay to wait it out but I didn't -"

"Can you vocalize your short tag, full designation, and citizenship ranking?" the Protector interrupted in the standard neutral tone.

Bluestreak did so, and, depressingly familiar with this routine by now, pinged the same information to the mech's comms, including his intended destination, his emergency contacts, and his former medic's contact. Technically most of this was in the Protector database, but providing it was as much procedure as it was a test of his coherency. He also, without being asked, stood up and went through the usual set of physical tests too. The Protector's expression slowly went from neutrality to bemusement to mild annoyance.

"Do you need a medic or an escort for the remainder of your trip?" the mech asked and vented a sigh when Bluestreak indicated a negative, "Right. I'm obliged to suggest that in the future, you should travel with an escort or assistant, or, should you feel the onset of a software malfunction, move to a secure location and ping the Protector frequency for help."

Bluestreak gave a non-committal mumble and the Protector's mouth twisted in disapproval.

"The notes on your records indicate you've been fully advised on the reasons for this suggestion and the dangers both to yourself and your fellow citizens should you choose not to follow it. Is this correct?"

"That's correct and I really do listen each time, I swear it's pretty much hard coded into my -"

"Then I won't reissue the statement," the unit said, though it was clear from his posture and pointed stare that he badly wanted to, "Please continue safely to your destination."

"- sure, thanks, got it," Bluestreak said and hurried on his way before the unit could change his mind. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was being brought in for a discussion and examination. He'd be filling out documentation for the rest of the orn if that happened.

* * *

He arrived at Sideswipe's place during fourth shift to find the shop still open, standing out among its dark and closed up neighbors. Most shops in the district were only open from first through third shift, but Sideswipe and his partner, Sunstreaker, worked by appointment and could be found entertaining clientele at literally any part of the orn.

Bluestreak stuck his head in to see Sideswipe and a mech he didn't know in deep discussion over a hologram that hovered between them. The hologram displayed a more modern, contemporary version of the unknown mech, with a deep purple color scheme gilded in sweeps of chrome. As Bluestreak watched, Sideswipe brushed his hand through the hologram and most of the chrome detailing vanished. It still looked pretty good to Bluestreak's optics, but the mech shook his helm in an instant negative. Sideswipe looked pleased and called back the detailing with another brush.

The stranger spared Bluestreak only a cursory optical scan as he invited himself the rest of the way in; Sideswipe pinged him with a private comm request.

::About time,:: he said, ::I've had a Protector unit harassing me for almost three joor now to let him know when you showed up.::

Bluestreak winced. ::Sorry, sorry, I had a malfunction on the way and if I'd been thinking straight, I would've realized it was coming and waited it out at a rest stop or something, but I didn't and -::

::A Protector unit found you and made a nuisance of itself,:: Sideswipe finished knowingly, ::Well, you made it in one piece, so I can get him off my tail-pipe. If you're up for earning your keep, Sunstreaker left you a mess in the work room. You know the drill.::

::Got it,:: Bluestreak said. He headed to the door at the back of the hexagonal lobby, leaving Sideswipe alone with his customer once again.

The work room was adjacent to the lobby and went down two stories below the main shop. It was filled end-to-end with the tools and equipment of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's body modification business. Huge vents ran constantly, filling the space with a sub-sonic hum as they filtered chemical fumes out of the air. Bluestreak looked out over the edge of the first-story platform to see if Sunstreaker was still around.

He wasn't, but as Sideswipe had said, he'd certainly left his mark behind. In addition to spilled paint and chemicals and tools scattered across every surface, an entire, disembodied exterior shell was laid out on one of the work tables, gleaming faintly in the shop lights. Bluestreak quickly made his way down to the bottom floor to get a closer look.

The shell was about mid-range size, probably for a mech no more than half-again Bluestreak's height, and done up in sleek lines of bright green and blue-tinted black. He muttered his appreciation to himself as he walked around it, trying to construct the mech it belonged to in his processor. It couldn't possibly be for one of the Praxian models, not with that curvature. In fact...

Bluestreak held up his thumb near the edge of one panel to gauge its thickness. Much, much heavier duty than Praxian regulations permitted for exterior plating. Maybe they had non-local customers they worked with? Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were citizens, but they weren't  _native_ , after all, even if they had been granted citizenship and right to purchase property in a third of the time it took most non-natives. They were exported Kaon models from Tyrest, originally. Some of their clientele may have followed them through the relocation.

Bluestreak shrugged. It hardly mattered in the long road. He had more important things to worry about. Like a messy work room, a depleted bank account, a skyscraper worth of debt, and a list of "Want" ads that may be his only ticket out of the pit he'd found himself at the bottom of.

He turned away from the table and applied himself to the problems he could deal with now.

* * *

"Hey, Bluestreak! You done in here yet?"

Bluestreak halted the one-sided conversation he'd been having with the paint jars and extracted himself from the storage cabinet. "Just another klik," he yelled up, "I've almost got these sorted!"

Sideswipe waved from the first-story platform in acknowledgment. "Come up to the apartment when you're done. I wanna talk."

Sideswipe's voice was jovial, but dread made Bluestreak's processor race anyway. This was the fourth time they'd put him up and while Sideswipe's patience was seemingly endless, at least as long as Bluestreak provided free labor around the shop, Sunstreaker's had been running thin by the last stay.

He did another quick review of the application and resume packet he'd put together for answering the ads. At least he'd have something substantial to show Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

"I'll be right there!" he called.

Sideswipe waved again and vanished back behind the railing.

* * *

In stark contrast to the cluttered state of the work room, the apartment was clean, sparsely decorated, and pleasingly utilitarian in design. Bluestreak felt himself relaxing even with Sunstreaker's looming, annoyed presence by the wall.

"I have a plan," Bluestreak blurted out, "I've had it for a while, actually, but I was hesitating on it because I really was hoping one of those three places I interviewed at would pan out, but now it's gotten desperate and this is the only thing I can think of. And I know you gotta be tired of having me crash with you all the time, so I wanted to let you know that it won't be for long and it really will be the last time, I swear."

"Easy, Blue, easy," Sideswipe said, "I said you can stay here for the next megacycle and I meant it. Don't let fuss-bot there twist your pistons. He's just sour over getting his finish scratched."

"That's not all I'm sour about," Sunstreaker said. He was frowning at the wall when he said it and didn't elaborate, so Bluestreak had no idea whether the comment was directed at him or not. Sunstreaker was well-known for his mercurial moods and could have been annoyed at literally anything.

Sideswipe pointedly turned away, giving Sunstreaker his shoulder. He held out his hand to Bluestreak in invitation, wrist bent to expose the data ports along his base of his palm. "Tell me about this plan of yours," he said.

Bluestreak accepted the offered hand, fit his finger-tip jacks into the adjacent ports, and uploaded the packet he'd put together. He'd gone ahead and bundled up everything that had happened in the megacycles since they'd last talked and packed it in with the details of his plan, just in case Sideswipe was interested. Sideswipe, in return, send his own data packet.

It was almost as big as Bluestreak's, which wasn't uncommon with Sideswipe and something Bluestreak still found a charming novelty. Most everyone else he knew liked to convey as much information as they could in as few bytes as possible.

"One of these orn, Bluestreak, I'm going to convince you that I don't need two outlines and a cross index to follow a- _what the scrap kind of plan is this_?"

Even though he'd been half expecting it, Bluestreak still jumped at the sudden outburst. "I told you I'm only doing it because I've gotten desperate! I really don't like it either, but if you look again at the list of pros and cons I put together, you can see that -"

"What's he planning?" Sunstreaker demanded of Sideswipe.

"He's going to answer an ad for a contract bonding," Sideswipe said, "Look at this slag."

Bluestreaker sensed the comm connection between them and squirmed under Sideswipe's open disapproval. "Bonding" was the act of two or more mechs entering into a partnership agreement where they co-habituated, shared resources, and spoke for each other in medical and legal matters. While all bonding involved contracts, "contract bonding" specifically referred to a bond entered into for a set period of time, until a particular goal was accomplished, or in exchange for funds. A "union of convenience", as the phrase went, and one that ran counter to all the emotional sentiment and devotion that was cited as the real reason mechs were supposed to become partners.

Even though perfectly legal and fairly common, putting out - or answering - an ad looking for someone to contract-bond with was kind of considered just a little bit...well...

 _Be honest, Bluestreak_ , he thought,  _It means you're a loser_.

"I know I said you should leave Praxus," Sideswipe ranted, "But I didn't mean like this! You have no idea what kind of conditions these mechs live in or what you might be getting yourself into."

"They all have good references," Bluestreak said, "You know I'm not being impulsive; you've seen all the research I've done and all the thought I put into it. I've been planning this for a long time."

"Not nearly long enough if you're planning to answer one from Vos! Have you even listened to the news recently?"

Bluestreak frowned, stung. He actually liked the Vosian one the most. "I'm not sensor glitched. I know what relations between Vos and Praxus are like right now, but that ad specifically requested a Praxian and why would a Vosian go through the whole verification process if they don't like mechs from Praxus anyway?"

"You're sending  _these_  picture with your application?" Sunstreaker demanded before Sideswipe could answer Bluestreak's question. Not that Bluestreak particularly wanted to hear what Sideswipe planned to say. He considered Sideswipe a good friend and was deeply grateful to him, but Sideswipe seemed to view him as terribly naive and flighty. "Those colors looked like absolute slag on you."

It was true. Orange and cream had been awful color choices for his frame in retrospect, but he'd wanted so badly to have a look modeled after his favorite stage performer at the time. It was one of the rare cases his patrons had indulged his whims without discussion or requesting a properly researched and presented explanation. Yet another sign of trouble ignored until too late.

"Yeah, but at least I was freshly painted and clean in those shots," Bluestreak said, "I mean, just look at me now."

He held out his arms in illustration. He still had the white base coat from his frame overhaul two vorn ago; a paint job that had only been meant to protect and heal welds, not to be attractive. On top of that, the remains of old grease stained his exposed joints and streaked onto the nearby plating, minor scuffs and dents speckled his exterior shell, the delicate mechanisms of his hands were a wreck, and top to bottom, he was covered in a thin layer of accumulated atmosphere pollution. He wasn't completely disgusting yet, but he was far closer than he'd ever let himself get before. He was ashamed of letting his self-maintenance slide for so long, but increasingly, it seemed like the shame only made it harder to resolve the problem.

Sunstreaker focused on Bluestreak for the first time since he'd entered the apartment and pulled a disgusted sneer. "Ugh. Tell me you weren't planning to show up like that if someone accepts your application."

"Would you stop distracting him?" Sideswipe said, "That's not the issue here."

"And of course I wasn't going to show up like this," Bluestreak said. He winced when Sideswipe gave him a dirty look and compulsively started talking faster to make up for annoying him. "I mean, I still have pride and part of my acceptance terms is an advance payment to close a couple overdue accounts and I'd budgeted a portion of that advance payment to fund a complete repaint and detailing and a system flush too, because I've had this gunk in my forward intake filter that been bugging me like you wouldn't believe and I don't even know where it -"

Sideswipe covered his face and made a helpless 'get on with it' gesture. Bluestreak realized he didn't know where he was going with the conversation thread anymore and made himself stop, embarrassed.

In the following brief silence, Bluestreak's inbox pinged him with a scheduling request for a free repaint as provided by Sunstreaker, of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's Body Shop. Bluestreak stared at Sunstreaker in shock. It was probably the kindest thing the other mech had ever offered him.

"For the love of Primus, Sunstreaker!" Sideswipe snapped. He must have gotten the alert too.

"Scrap you, I don't want him in my apartment in that condition," Sunstreaker said and stepped forward aggressively to poke his partner in the chest, "In fact, you're going to take him out and get him cleaned off before he even  _touches_  our charging dock."

Sideswipe didn't respond out loud, but Bluestreak could sense the encrypted conversation that flew between them. He waited, but they didn't seem in any rush to wrap it up. His feelings of unease began to roll over into despair. Sideswipe was right, of course. It was a horrible plan. An unsuitable, deeming one. He'd be going from a life of independence and devotion to hard work, community service, and utilizing his abilities to the fullest to... to being an accessory. None of the ads stated that he couldn't get a job or engage in hobbies after the bonding occurred, but they did state that his partner's requests for companionship and assistance with household matters were to take precedence over any other activity. Unless he lucked out with a partner who only wanted his company to see a stage play or concert once a megacycle, Bluestreak's time for the next ten vorn was not going to be his own.

But what other options did he have left? Continue bouncing between friends until they ran out of patience and spare funds? Squat in the underlevels with the rest of the homeless and beg for resources? Hide until the creditors found him? Deal with the steady decay of his glitch until the City Protection Force successfully got him committed to the care facilities? Maybe that would be a good thing; he'd be shut off from all his friends, from the outside world, have his every move restricted and monitored… but at least they would work on fixing his glitch. Assuming it was something that could be fixed. Assuming the damage wasn't permanent.

The sheer hopelessness of his situation crashed over him, sending a warning scatter of error messages across his vision. He stiffened in sharp, sudden fear and the emotional surge triggered several false alerts that his core temperature was in the red and that his frantically spinning heat sinks were malfunctioning.  _No, slag it, not again_.

He initiated force shut down commands to the programs that seemed most affected and oh, thank Primus, they responded. Only the system that monitored his internal temperature crashed in the process of shutting down and needed a full hardware boot. His second one of the orn. He wrote himself a note to do that during his next recharge cycle, trusted the failsafe to protect him for now, restarted the disabled programs, and ran a diagnostic.

"-uestreak?"

Bluestreak jerked his head up.

"Huh, what?" he stammered, completely flustered. A backlog of external data abruptly loaded into in his cache, informing him that Sideswipe had been trying to get his attention for a while. He hadn't even noticed that he'd stopped receiving from his sensors. "I - I wasn't paying attention, sorry, I just got - what did you say?"

Oh, this was awful; they'd been staring at him for a full klik while he stood there failing to respond. It wasn't the first time they'd seen him in the middle of an attack, but that did nothing to stem the mortification and self-disgust that made him hunch his shoulders and babble defensive excuses.

Sunstreaker looked away and investigated his hand, never once loosing the expression of cynical distaste.

Sideswipe, by contrast, was unreadable. He firmly cut off Bluestreak's stream of words. "I checked with the local auto-wash and they have a slot open. If we head out now, I can keep you company until my next appointment. And I'll pay for it," he added, when Bluestreak started to talk again.

"I - thanks," Bluestreak said in a small voice.

They left Sunstreaker were he stood, still adjusting something in his hand. Bluestreak waved a dutiful goodbye; Sideswipe made no tangible acknowledgement of his partner, but that was common with the pair.

He fell in behind Sideswipe as they went through the small office that connected the apartment to the shop lobby. He stared at his friend's back, unconsciously flaring and angling his sensor panels as he tried to get a gauge on Sideswipe's mood and the reason for the abrupt change. Was he mad? Still thought Bluestreak was being stupid? Unsettled by the attack? Bluestreak, himself, would've been bothered to witness something like that.

"So," Sideswipe said suddenly, "I figured I could go over that list of ads you're responding to. Vet the references, give pointers for tailoring your resume. Stuff like that." He cast a cautious look over his shoulder as he triggered open the door into the lobby.

Relief and gratefulness flooded Bluestreak and perked up his entire posture. Sideswipe didn't approve, but he was accepting, and for that, Bluestreak couldn't be more grateful.

"Yes! That would be really great, I mean it," he said.

The tension left Sideswipe's frame and he returned Bluestreak's smile. "In that case, I got a thing or two to say about this Polyhex fellow with the turbofox collection..."


	2. Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bluestreak responds to an ad and gets a reply. An interview ensues. It is awkward for all involved.

"You aren't modding it, are you? If you aren't, you aren't, just say so and I'll believe you, but that design does seem more rounded than before and I really do like the square, classic lines, so I think-"

Sunstreaker turned away from the holographic display to stare at Bluestreak.

"-haha, don't listen to me, I'm sure it's fine, I'll trust you to do whatever you think is best, since you're the expert in this situation and I've always-"

"Stop," Sunstreaker said, with that particular pained expression that always made him seem more baffled than angry. As if Bluestreak were some strange creature he couldn't begin to make sense of.

Bluestreaker's vocalizer squeaked at being turned off mid-word. He gave several frantic nods and returned to the nanite colonies he'd been tending.

Sunstreaker had dozens he used for his work, all in various stages of stasis, reproductive expansion, and population maintenance, depending on how soon he was going to need them. Their primary purpose was cosmetic repair and modification; a robust colony could remove the appearance of weld lines, fill in scars and abrasions, reinforce weak spots and dig out networks of capillaries and sensor connectors in new or reforged plating. All while said plating was removed from the mech themselves, so as not to interfere with the behavior of their native nanites.

He checked the display on the tank in front of him, then added in the requisite amount of ore nuggets and metal shavings.

"Here you go, a nice tasty treat," he said.

The colony appeared as little more than a layer of thick, silver liquid spread out on the bottom of the plexiglass tank. It shifted in reaction to the nuggets, first retreating and then swarming back to swallow the pieces, forming a lumpy silver ball around them.

A strange sort of bittersweet nostalgia rose in Bluestreak. When he was in his early development phases, his patrons had kept a giant nanite colony on display in the main lobby of their office building. Part living sculpture and part fountain, Buestreak used to press his palms against the crystal walls of the enclosure and watch the seething, multi-colored mass spin and stretch and twist into fantasy cityscape's that reached high over his head. That colony was long gone now.

He banished the memory files before he could get lost in them. He was in too good a mood to deal with the past right then; he was clean inside and out the first time in a rotation, his plan was better than ever with Sideswipe's input, and before too long, he was going to have revitalized plating and a new, proper paint job.

That thought had his attention drifting back to the design Sunstreaker was working on. A scaled down holographic replica of Bluestreak's robot mode and vehicle mode stood before him, already changed from dingy white to a dark gray with medium gray helm, forearms, and back-mounted sensor panels, and black hips. Not to mention a noticeably sleeker cabin on the alt mode. As Bluestreak watched, Sunstreaker touched the color palette that hovered at his elbow and added bright red to the hologram's thighs.

Bluestreak automatically started to protest. Red was already an attention getting color and being set against a conservative gray only made it more so. He checked the words before his vocalizer could produce them and resolutely focused on the nanite tank. Sunstreaker was doing this completely for free as a gift to him, after all, and he shouldn't complain.

Well, not that he had any leverage to complain with, considering Sunstreaker had stripped him of his plating and outfitted him with a temporary set the nanoklik he and Sideswipe returned from the auto-wash. Technically, he could return Bluestreak's shell in any condition he wished.

Maybe Bluestreak shouldn't think about that too much.

"Lets get you back into your dock before you run out of energy," he said to the unresponsive colony. He returned the tank to its wall mount and went on to the next.

* * *

A message was waiting in his inbox when he came out of recharge.

Actually, several messages were waiting, not the least of which was one from the City Protection Forces, and Bluestreak would bet anything that the report of his last public incident had them wanting him to come in for another evaluation.

The only one that caught his attention, though, was for the Vosian contract bonding ad from a mech called Thundercracker.

A little fission of nervous excitement went through Bluestreak's circuits. This would be only the second reply he'd gotten since answering the ads three orn ago.

The first respondent, who hailed from a high end district in Uraya, had immediately started out trying to negotiate a cheaper advance payment - something Sideswipe said Bluestreak should have planned for and declared him a "lost cause" when he admitted to asking for the exact funds he needed up front. The contractual obligations weren't unreasonable, amounting mostly to "keep me company during parties" and "read this literature so we can talk about it together", but it seemed like the mech couldn't afford more than half Bluestreak's asking price. He really didn't want to have to sell himself for that little. Hopefully this Thundercracker mech would have better terms.

Bluestreak left the message unprocessed for the moment and began extracting himself from between Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Since they'd gone straight into recharge without untangling themselves, this required a lot pushing off of limbs and careful disconnecting of cables without pulling. Sunstreaker's automated proximity sensors pinged at him in reaction to the handling, but neither mech powered up. Finally free, he scooted to the edge of the charging dock platform and stood. Once out of the dock's induction field, his systems switched over from city power to internal power with the usual internal shiver.

His first stop was the maintenance station in the corner of the apartment. It was a square section of sunken floor equipped with a drain, a counter, a deep sink, and several floor length mirrors set at angles to each other.

Those mirrors showed a customized Class A5 Praxian model in shades of gray and silver with optic-catching splashes of red on thighs, upper arms, and the chevron on his forehead. The 'customized' part came in the shape of his armor; standard A5s were angular in the chest, legs, and back, leading toward boxy. Sunstreaker had softened the lines of his shell, making them curve inward instead of pointing out, not drastically so, but enough to give a sleek appearance in place of his former squarish bulk. More akin to a Class 70H, only without the doubled sensor panels.

"It suits you better," Sunstreaker had said in that way that dared Bluestreak to tell him otherwise.

Bluestreak had been to surprised find himself agreeing. Still, it was strange at first, seeing his altered appearance reflected back at him. Like all mechs, he'd cultivated a personal 'look' over the vorn of his life. Paint jobs changed in color, but followed the same theme, little decorations became signature elements, helms gained unique attachments. All of Bluestreak's individual elements had been lost in the frame overhaul, but he'd always imagined he'd get them back the nanoklik he could afford to.

Now, staring into the mirrors, Bluestreak realized he was relieved that he didn't look like his old self again.

_Maybe it's better if that 'me' just doesn't exist anymore._

He shook off the cynical thought and began the painstaking process of checking himself over for the slightest dent, scuff, scratch, or stain.

One of the downsides, he'd discovered, of getting a free paint job from Sunstreaker was that he took the same proprietary interest in it as he did in his own paint job. Which meant no, Bluestreak couldn't wait and let his self-repairs tend to any minor damage, he had to fix it  _now_  or else Sunstreaker was going to sit him down and do it for him. Sunstreaker didn't seem to mind this anymore than he seemed to mind anything, but Sideswipe protested long and loud at Sunstreaker doubling his already lengthy self-maintenance routine by tending to Bluestreak too. In the spirit of avoiding fights, Bluestreak decided it was easier to put in the extra effort of keeping himself up.

It took all of a breem to wipe out the marks of the previous orn and then another to check his filters and fluid levels and the looseness of his joints. That done, he took a full ventilation cycle to brace himself and opened the message from Thundercracker.

The initial part of the message was a long, formal greeting. Very long and very formal; followed by an equally long and formal 'thank you' for submitting his resume. It was kind of... grandiose. Overblown. It made Bluestreak think of those comedy stage shows where "nobles" made extravagant speeches about minor events and covered themselves in nets of LEDs, so that every other character acted like they were being blinded whenever the noble was on stage.

That image had Bluestreak giggling before he was half-way through. Really, this mech made it sound like they were negotiating a high-stakes business transaction, not a contract bonding. All at once, the entire process didn't seem quite so awful and frightening.

The actual contract terms and monetary offer were downright concise compared to the opening. Thundercracker was offering 10% less on the advance fee, and about 30% less on the living allowance. Not the amount Bluestreak needed, but considerably more than the Uraya mech. Bluestreak would be granted a private room, computer terminal, and charging dock with energy allotment, which would not come out of the allowance, but he would have to provide for his own furnishings, entertainment, upgrades, and regular maintenance. As a bond partner, he would be covered under Thundercracker's insurance for emergency repairs. He would have two free shifts out of every orn and four non-consecutive orn off every rotation.

In exchange, he would be required to provide Thundercracker with accompaniment to any social event, meeting, or show Thundercracker chose to attend, even if it required rescheduling his free time. He would have to maintain proper etiquette and abide Thundercracker's requests throughout the duration of said events, and/or attend training on how to do so as ordered. Social charm and wit would be a bonus, but not necessary. When not attending events, he would be assigned administrative and household chores, including the tracking and updating of Thundercracker's personal appointments.

The details went on. It was... a great deal more impersonal than the one from the Uraya mech. That contract had obviously been the product of a profoundly lonely individual. This sounded more like scouting for a personal assistant. A positive from Bluestreak's perspective, but it didn't seem worth going through the cost and hassle of a contract bonding for.

He analyzed the contract terms twice more, trying to read between the lines like Sideswipe was teaching him to. When that yielded nothing suspicious, he examined the included pictures and bio.

Thundercracker had been creche raised - Vos, unlike Praxus and many other city-states, scorned the patronage system - and joined the air defense forces as soon as he passed his proficiency exams. He swiftly achieved officer rank and was eventually granted a government position by his commander. This was common in Vos, where they favored military leaders over civilian or publicly appointed ones. The bio went on further regarding Thundercracker's rank in relation to his commander and another mech that was apart of his unit, but exactly how all that translated into Praxian terms, Bluestreak had no idea. Thundercracker had an exemplary service record, a fondness for classical music and a type of dance Bluestreak didn't recognize, preferred solitude to large crowds, and historical documents to fictional literature or stage shows. It was essentially the same information as the original ad.

The pictures showed a blue and pale gray seeker model with a tetra jet altmode. All the images had the stiffness of posed shots and Thundercracker wore the same stern, closed-off expression in each one. He didn't look at all nice or friendly, but then again, neither did Sunstreaker, and he could be really kind and considerate when you gave him the chance and didn't take anything he said personally. Maybe this Thundercracker didn't like getting his picture taken.

He was an attractive mech, for all his apparent grumpiness. He had strong, clean-cut features that went nicely with his helm shape and kept himself well maintained. His frame wasn't quite to Bluestreak's tastes, being a little long in the torso, but his back-mounted wings added a broadness to the chest and shoulders that Bluestreak's Praxian sensibilities approved of. It didn't matter, in the long road, whether or not Bluestreak _enjoyed_  looking at his future partner, but it certainly wouldn't hurt.

Bluestreak wandered from the maintenance station to the one exterior wall while he processed the message. A remote command made a section of the wall transparent, letting him watch the flow of traffic outside. There was a narrow walkway and below and beyond that, a plaza where merchants who couldn't afford permanent shops set up temporary stalls. A freeway arched overhead, casting its broad shadow on the bustling crowd. It was the first Sun Season of the vorn and what light made it past the freeway flashed off bright chrome and multi-hued armor. The cheery merchant banners billowed and waved lazily in the wind channeled through the turbines up the street.

It was Praxus, living and moving and beautiful. It was home and he was going to miss it.

* * *

It took another joor for Sideswipe to power up out of recharge. Bluestreak kept himself occupied - and quiet - during that time by answering the rest of his mail and voice-chatting with a friend. He made plans to stay over with this friend if he wasn't already moving in with his new partner by end of the megacycle.

"Well, this Thundercracker goes on forever about nothing as much as you do," Sideswipe said, "It's a perfect match."

"I don't go on forever about nothing! That's mean," Bluestreak said.

"And hypocritical," Sunstreaker added from the maintenance station.

Sideswipe ignored both of them, his attention split between the datapad of financial records in his hands and the copy of Thundercracker's message in his processor. Bluestreak wondered which one was making him frown so hard.

After another klik of silent scrolling on the pad, Sideswipe opened his vents in a deep sigh.

"Sunstreaker," he called over to his partner, "I need you to come check this. No, now, it's important. Put down the rag. Bluestreak," he continued, "Vos is a bad idea. Vosians are insular and elitist, and it's all about who you know or who you can pay off. I don't want to think about what would happen if you got into any kind of legal trouble over there.  _But_... this a good offer. I've done research for comparison and it's highly unlikely you're going to get a better one."

Sunstreaker stomped over while Sideswipe talked and snatched the datapad out of his hand. Sideswipe held up both hands in a pacifying gesture.

"I want to accept it," Bluestreak said, "I like the sound of it, especially the contract terms because it sounds like I'd actually have something to do and Vos is pretty close to Praxus, so visiting will be easier. I know you're worried and I understand why, but I know how to be careful. It's not like I'm going to be breaking any laws anyway."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker paused at that and a comm chat flashed between them. Something about their expressions gave Bluestreak the irritated feeling that they thought he was being naive again. The feeling only increased when Sunstreaker snorted and turned his attention to the datapad in dismissal.

"If only everything worked that way," Sideswipe said out loud, clearly echoing Sunstreaker's unspoken sentiment.

"But," he added in response to Bluestreak's attempted protest, "It's still your decision. Don't accept right away; send back a counter-offer asking for a 10% increase on the allowance and removal of the termination stipulation that makes you responsible for all legal fees. You won't get the latter, but you will get some extra on the former."

He tapped down on his annoyance. In the end, Sideswipe had been a big help to him when he didn't need to be and Bluestreak was grateful. "I will. Thank you."

* * *

It didn't take long for him to make changes to the response he'd drafted up earlier and, after another nervous review for errors, send it to Thundercracker. Now it was back to waiting and with no chores to do in the shop for the time being, Bluestreak re-read one of his favorite fictional documents and half-listened to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's conversation on the other side of the apartment.

"He'll want to discuss this in person," Sunstreaker said and gestured with the datapad, "I'm not going. I can't stand that slagger."

"I wasn't going to send you," Sideswipe said in a low voice, "But I was hoping to put off going until after -" He dropped into an encrypted comm line.

"Don't be stupid, that's too long. Just reschedule your appointments. I'll use the time to finish my backlog and keep myself from throwing Bluestreak in the smelter."

"Hey!" Bluestreak said laughingly, since they knew he was ease-dropping.

"He's bluffing, he wouldn't destroy a paint job he did," Sideswipe said.

"That's why I'd take the armor off first," Sunstreaker said, a rare glint of humor in the curve of his mouth.

A warm feeling rose in Bluestreak. It was nice when Sunstreaker accepted his presence enough to include him in the teasing. He began to formulate a reply - only to freeze at the message that popped up in his inbox. Already?

"Blue?" Sideswipe asked as the pause lengthened.

"Thundercracker replied." Excitement and unease chased themselves through his processor. "He approved the counteroffer and wants to do a live interview."

* * *

Six joor later found Bluestreak in Sideswipe's cramped little office. The computer terminal stood in the center of the room; a narrow table bisected by a glass screen in a thin silver frame. An antiquated design, but attractive in it's clean lines. Sideswipe had already started up the video conference software, patched into the terminal, and retreated to finish preparing for his own upcoming trip. He was going to be remotely monitoring the interview, an offer that, Bluestreak suspected, came as much from curiosity as helpfulness.

This was it. If the interview went well, he'd soon be on his way to a new home.

Bluestreak gave himself a good, armor rattling shake to settle his nerves, and approached the computer. A quick hand gesture brought the software out of standby and allowed him to enter the comm channel he'd been given. A connection alert bearing the insignia of Vos popped up, requesting his personal ID for verification before the call could be completed. The screen cleared for a nanoklik after the data was transmitted, giving Bluestreak a flash of the painting mounted on the opposite wall, then smoothly transitioned into a live video feed.

A seeker stood against the sprawling backdrop of a foreign cityscape with hands braced on his hips and head lifted in a haughty expression. His build was nearly identical to Thundercracker's, with a paint job of red, white, and bright blue in place of more muted blues and grays, but the real difference was attitude. There was nothing of the stiff postured, stern-faced Thundercracker in this mech's cocky stance or intent stare.

"Oh, ah, hi," Bluestreak said, caught off-guard at being faced with a stranger instead of Thundercracker, "I have an appointment with -"

"I am Starscream, Vos Air Marshal and Arial Defense Force adviser to Emirate Race Wing, and direct superior to Wing Commander Thundercracker," the seeker said. He had a high, raspy voice, and something about his wording made Bluestreak think of the overwrought intro to Thundercracker's first message. "I will be conducting the initial part of this interview on my subordinate's behalf."

The excessive formality jolted Bluestreak out of his surprise, but he grasped onto it almost without thinking. He could do formality. It was familiar and easy.

Bluestreak spread out his sensor panels and aligned his body into the appropriate welcoming stance. "Well met, Air Marshal. I am Bluestreak, Praxus Citizen Fifth Tier, Rank Ceta. I look forward to a productive meeting. Do you wish to begin?"

"You're unemployed, correct?" Starscream asked without answering the question.

"That - that's correct," Bluestreak said, a little confused at the choice of opening. Starscream should know this already, unless Thundercracker didn't share Bluestreak's bio with him. "As stated in my application."

"Then what are you doing for resources?" Starscream's tone was almost accusatory.

Bluestreak barely kept himself from jerking back at the unexpected rudeness. Did he want to make sure Bluestreak wasn't stealing to survive or something?

"Friends of mine are giving me energy and a place to stay in exchange for helping out with their business."

"So they'll put you up and give you work, but they won't hire you?"

"Excuse me, I don't see how that is relevant to the interview topic." Bluestreak felt his sensor panels folding back defensively and made an effort to straighten them.

"Oh, come now," Starscream said, waving his hand, "Naturally, I don't want my subordinate bonded to someone who is so lazy, incompetent, or emotionally unstable that even his own friends won't employee him. It is a  _reasonable_  concern."

Put that way, Bluestreak was torn between agreeing that yes, it was reasonable, and getting even more offended. He'd included references with the application packet specifically to address those sorts of concerns; it was Thundercracker and Starscream's responsibility to utilize said references if they had doubts. Still, the question did have an answer and it wouldn't hurt to share it.

"It's a small business," he said, "They can't support a third employee." At least not at the salary he would need to earn. Sunstreaker didn't strictly want another mech 'taking up space' in his workshop, either, but he had admitted once or twice that if they did ever need a third, Bluestreak was the only one of Sideswipe's friends he would tolerate in the position. ("As long as I don't have to live with him, too," Sunstreaker had been quick to clarify.)

"Ah, is that it?" Starscream titled his head and tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. His optics were narrowed and focused. It was all Bluestreak could do to not squirm uncomfortably, like the underside of his plating was covered in grit. "You mean it has nothing to do with that persistent software malfunction of yours?"

::That aft is trying to catch you in a lie,:: Sideswipe said over commlink.

Bluestreak had just figured that out himself. He sent Sideswipe an agreement and said out loud, "No. I mean, the malfunction causes problems, but they'd be willing to work around the difficulties." Bluestreak couldn't stop himself from adding, "And my friends aren't native Praxian, so it's different for them."

::So hey, remember what I said about  _Vosians_  being insular and elitist?::

::But it's true and it's not like I hold it against you or anything!::

Starscream snapped his fingers, as if an idea had just occurred to him.

"That reminds me," he said, "I was given to understand that the Praxian method of citizenship ranking was based on work performance, moral standing, and service to the community and state. How  _does_  one become desperate enough to apply for a contract bonding while maintaining any manner of a Fifth Tier ranking?"

Despite the derogatory wording, Starscream's tone was nothing but sincere, polite interest. Bluestreak honestly couldn't tell if he was being genuine or not. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of the last time he'd attended a social event for upper tier citizens after his patrons' deaths. He used to love such events; the opportunity to meet and speak with those powerful citizens who cared for and shaped Praxus; the knowledge that he was, even in a lesser way, one of them. But going had after the accident had been a mistake. Far too many mechs making a point of coming over to ask probing, insinuating questions in voices oily sweet with pity and concern. His official ranking aside, he just wasn't comfortable in that world right now.

Unfortunately, even if Starscream was trying to get a rise out of Bluestreak, there wasn't much he could do but keep his cool. If he acted out, Starscream would discourage Thundercracker from bonding with him, for one, and for another, there was still the chance that Starscream  _was_  innocently curious as he sounded. Some people just weren't good at socializing.

"My ranking was locked while I was in recovery from an accident," Bluestreak said, "After that, the ranking committee concluded it wasn't my fault that the resulting software malfunction made it difficult for me to take up my previous responsibilities. So my rank remains static until the malfunction is repaired." Or he deteriorated into insanity and was committed, one of the two.

"Hm. And is it repairable?"

"I - I don't know."

Surprise softened Starscream's haughty expression. For the first time, Bluestreak noticed he had a nice face. Definitely of a similar mold to Thundercracker's, but somewhat narrower in the jaw and further apart in the optics.

"Not for certain, though the state medic who evaluated me seemed positive," Bluestreak explained compulsively, "But I haven't been able to afford the services of a medic-programmer, 'cause I inherited a lot of debt from my patrons' failed business and that plus the repair costs from the accident have been so much even selling everything wasn't enough to cover everything, so it's just been all I could do to keep up on my living expenses, but I -"

::You're babbling.::

Bluestreak disabled his vocalizer. A warning that his hydraulics were losing pressure popped in his HUD. He quickly rebooted the monitoring program and was relieved when it returned an 'operation normal' this time.

Starscream looked downright sardonic. "How  _fascinating_ ," he drawled and there was nothing remotely pleasant about his tone or words this time, "Tell me, how is it that you're such a  _valuable_  community resource that you get a special status for it, and yet there's no spare state funds to make you useful again?"

Confusion made Bluestreak frown. "It's not the responsibility of Praxus to pay for my repairs."

Starscream made a disgusted noise. Anger and protest rose in Bluestreak and he struggled with the urge to defend his city. He really couldn't expect a Vosian to appreciate the Praxian values of self-reliance and responsibility.

"Regardless, I've heard all I've needed to," Starscream said, "I'm passing my impressions of our meeting on to Thundercracker. They are positive, you should be pleased to hear."

Starscream paused pointedly. It took a nanoklik for Bluestreak's processor to catch up.

"Uh, thank you," Bluestreak said.

Annoyance flickered across Starscream's face and Bluestreak got the feeling that wasn't the response he'd been expecting. "I'll inform Thundercracker that you're ready to speak to him."

He made a hand gesture Bluestreak recognized as a computer command. The screen switched over to a "Please hold" graphic.

::Do me a favor,:: Sideswipe said, ::Punch that mech when you get to Vos.::

::I'm not going to punch anyone!::

::In the faceplates, Blue.::

Bluestreak ignored him in favor of regaining his composure. He had to concentrate to recall the list of possible questions he'd thought up to ask Thundercracker and to get his frame and sensor panels to relax into a less tense posture. The strange, abrupt conversation had been unexpectedly rattling. Bluestreak really hoped that he would be able to avoid Starscream after bonding to Thundercracker and instantly felt bad about it. The two were probably very close. Why else would Starscream want to interview someone Thundercracker was considering a bond with?

The graphic on the computer screen flashed to alert him it was being taken off hold. This time, when the video feed faded in, it was Thundercracker who looked back at him.

Or rather, frowned moodily at him in near perfect replication of the biography photos.

"Bluestreak," Thundercracker said with a nod of acknowledgement. Unlike Starscream's high rasp, Thundercracker had a deep, rumbling voice that vibrated against Bluestreak's plating even through the speakers. He shivered in surprise.

"Thundercracker,  _hi_." A giddy rush of relief and nerves went through him when Thundercracker didn't do more than nod again in response to the greeting. He hurried on to avoid any awkward silence. "It's nice to meet you at last! Thank you so much for reviewing my application and I'm glad I'm a match for what you're looking for."

Thundercracker grunted. "Your application had all the information I needed. You got any questions?"

"Oh, yes! I have several," Bluestreak said, "Well, I guess to start, I should ask what kind of accommodations you live in and if it's private or shared or what. Your bio said that you were part of a unit, but it didn't mention if you cohabitate with them."

"I don't," Thundercracker said, "I got a place granted me as part of my adviser position."

"So you live alone?"

Thundercracker hesitated. It was only a nanoklik, but that was long enough for Bluestreak to start up again. "I mean, I'm really good at sharing and getting along with most anyone, so it's not a problem if I'm going to be living with a bunch of other mechs and I know I'm getting my own personal room besides. I just thought it would be good to know, in case any of them need to have their space or if I'm supposed to be doing chores for them too."

Thundercracker opened his mouth.

Bluestreak didn't even pause. "I don't mind, by the way, having do to the same sort of administrative and escort work as mentioned in the contract for the rest of your household, but I do want to make sure if that's what's expected of me so we can work out it and especially make sure we all have our space and everything."

Thundercracker was staring at him and Sideswipe was sending him warning pings, but it was no good. The combo of relief that this mech was much less unsettling than Starscream and the worry that he was going to give a bad impression had both loosened and sped up his vocalizer.

"I live alone," Thundercracker said finally, interrupting a reiteration that Bluestreak really was good at getting along with other mechs, really.

"- Oh! Then I guess all the rest isn't a concern then, unless you have guests over, but that's different and I'm sure we'll work out arrangements beforehand and -"

"That it? That all you wanted to know?" Thundercracker broke in again.

Bluestreak's processor skipped threads without missing a beat. "No, I have several questions like I said and the next one is what exactly will my duties entitle? Mainly the part about the administrative and household chores, because the contract made it sound pretty broad. Not that you'd have to go into specifics now, but - "

He kept going, finding new points that he wanted to clarify to make sure Thundercracker didn't misunderstand him. But from Thundercracker's expression, he may as well have been speaking another language. Bluestreak wasn't sure if it was because he was explaining himself too much or not enough. He focused and managed to rein in his wandering monologue.

"Well, anyway, that's what I wanted to know."

Silence.

Confusion drifted slowly across Thundercracker's expression. He made a motion to talk, stopped, and scowled at Bluestreak suspiciously.

Bluestreak nearly shorted out his vocalizer holding back the stream of reiterations and reassurances that wanted to come out. A distraction arrived in the form of Sunstreaker patching into his and Sideswipe's commlink.

::What the slag is going on in there? Sideswipe is acting like a complete idiot.::

::Oh Primus help me, his  _face_ ,:: Sideswipe said, the words nearly indistinct with laughter.

That was not a good sign.

"You'll be recording meetings," Thundercracker said. He spoke warily, as if expecting Bluestreak to suddenly start screaming and attacking the screen. "Getting those recording verified, noted, and archived. Receiving packages. Tracking my appointments. Not leaving your mess all over. That's all."

"Great, that'll be no problem for me at all," Bluestreak said, nodding eagerly. He wanted to ask his next question without any unnecessary chatter or rambling, truly he did. Thundercracker seemed like a decent enough mech; he didn't need Bluestreak going off about nothing.

But every micron of his armor felt hyper charged with nervous energy, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were getting into a fight over the comms, and Thundercracker... Thundercracker looked somewhere between annoyed and resigned. The battle was lost before it even started.

Bluestreak managed to get two more questions answered in the several breem that followed; one about leaving Vos for vacations ("not for the first vorn") and another about having guests over ("for short visits, yes. For longer than two shifts, no. I don't like company."). The rest of the time was taken up by his talking. He kept expecting Thundercracker to interrupt again or tell him to be quiet, but the other mech just stood there and stared. After a while, he folded his arms across his chest, leaned back on his heels, and gave every impression of intending to stand there and stare all orn. Occasionally he would glance somewhere off camera, make a vague gesture at the screen, and shrug, but that was it.

When an interruption finally did come, it was from an unexpected source.

"Enough!" Starscream's all-too-distinctive voice lashed through the speakers, stopping Bluestreak mid-sentence and causing both him  _and_  Thundercracker to jump.

"You have more important business to attend to than listening to anymore of this chattering," Starscream continued, though the mech himself didn't appear on screen. Bluestreak was horrified to realize Starscream had to have been watching and listening the entire time.

"I don't know, Starscream," Thundercracker said slowly, the faintest hint of a smirk about his mouth, "I think he's got more to say."

A giggle escaped Bluestreak before he could help it. Thundercracker looked over at him and their optics met in a brief flash of mutual understanding before the seeker's closed-off frown reinstated itself. For the first time, hope that maybe this would work out after all flared to life in Bluestreak's spark.

An inarticulate sound came from Starscream's direction. Thundercracker straightened, his frame taking on all the stiff formality of a Protection Unit at full attention.

"Thank you for your time, Bluestreak," he intoned. His voice had dropped another octave, making the speakers thrum with effort. "I'll send over the documentation to complete our bonding contract shortly. If you're still willing to go ahead."

Frankly, Bluestreak was surprised that Thundercracker still wanted to bond with him. The hope flared brighter. "Yes! Yes, I am. I'll look forward to it."

Thundercracker grimaced. "Right. Send me any other questions you got then. Thundercracker out."

Bluestreak managed to get out a quick "Goodbye" before the call terminated.

Not much for parting words, these seekers.

The program stand-by icon flashed at him twice before the screen cleared. Bluestreak looked at the painting on the far wall without really seeing it as the final bit of his frantic energy drained away. He cycled air through his systems and released it a long, hard vent.

::Well,:: he said to the silence in the commlink, ::What do you think of Thundercracker?::

::Masochist,:: Sunstreaker said.

::Desperate,:: Sideswipe said.

::Hiding something,:: Sunstreaker added.

::Boss is a slagger,:: Sideswipe tossed out.

The pair were in the apartment when he left the office. Sideswipe knelt on the floor with supplies for his trip to one of their vendors spread out around him. Sunstreaker leaned against the back wall, intently carving a piece of helm plating with a sharp edged stylus.

"But," Sideswipe said, looking up at Bluestreak, "He wants you around, so he can't be all bad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be sad when Sunny and Sides are no longer in this regularly
> 
>  **Time units:**  
>  A joor is 1 and 1/4th hours  
> A shift is 10 hours  
> An orn is 60 hours  
> A megacycle is 12.5 days, just shy of two weeks  
> A rotation is 60 day, or 8.5 weeks  
> A vorn is 83 years  
> A breem is 8.3 minutes  
> A klik is just over a minute  
> A nanoklik is a second


	3. Moving Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bluestreak heads to his new home and his new partner, enjoying plenty of scenery along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO. Wow. I still can't believe this took me so very, very long, but it's here and the next chapter is drafted out as well. Many and multiple thanks again to [Moonsheen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsheen/pseuds/Moonsheen) for her support, encouragement, and advice on a transitional scene that was giving me headaches. 
> 
> And further big, loud, glittery THANK YOUs to everyone who's read, commented on, or in anyway enjoyed this fic and hoped for it's continuation. I'm five year late and super rusty, but I hope so much that this tale continues to please. You're all the best!
> 
> I can be found elsewhere on twitter as Justbolts and as boltstuck on tumblr.

Thundercracker was prompt, as was the agency he'd chosen to manage their documentation. Within a joor of the interview, the bonding contract had been sent for Bluestreak's review and signature, and by the next orn, he was completely, officially bonded to another mech.

It took longer to hash out the details of changing his permanent residence status with the administrations of Praxus and Vos, but outside of the interviews he had to attend, the agency was able to handle most of that as well. In the meanwhile, he had friends to inform -- friends that, unlike Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, he didn't feel comfortable sharing his full situation with, and who were shocked at him suddenly being not only bonded, but bonded to a Vosian -- bills to pay off now that he could, and creditors and other contacts that would throw fits if they couldn't get a hold of him after the move. His late patron's former lawyer threw a fit anyway.

Well, at least as much of a fit as said mech ever threw, which mostly meant she looked profoundly disappointed in him. Considering the most expressive she'd ever been before was a mild frown, Bluestreak ended the visit feeling awful and was hit with an attack the instant he returned to the body shop.

Sideswipe began his trip in the midst of Bluestreak's preparations. "Message me as soon as you get to Vos," he said, "I expect video."

Bluestreak, for once unable to find the words to express his gratefulness and how much he was going to miss Sideswipe, shared the sentiment through hardline.

"At least I got a good laugh out of it," Sideswipe said dismissively and added ::Just take care of yourself:: through the connection. "I've convinced Sunstreaker to let you continue crashing here until you're set to go, but you know how he is. Give him his space and you'll both be fine."

Sunstreaker himself was far more brusque. "When are you leaving?"

"As soon as I’m a legal resident of Vos."

"So you have enough time to scrub my work tables. Get to it."

***

All in all, it took two megacycles before everything was ready.

When that time finally arrived, it was heralded by the tiny, unassuming beep of his alarm system. He would be meeting Thundercracker on the other side of the Vos border at a location they'd arranged the previous orn.

He shut down the holographic game he'd been playing to distract himself and returned it to its storage unit. A final sweep of the barren apartment to make sure he wasn't leaving any of his few belongings, and there was nothing left to do but make sure Sunstreaker knew he was heading out.

The other mech was down in the work room, all of his considerable concentration tied up in decorating a small, delicate shell. It was for the shortest of the Praxian models, one that just barely came up to Bluestreak's hips. Sunstreaker had carved an interlaced pattern that ran from the helm down to the ankles, and was now fitting a thin tape of light emitting metal into the groove. He glanced up when Bluestreak tromped noisily down the stairs.

"Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving now and I wanted to thank you for letting me stay here so much longer than you originally agreed to. It really meant a lot to me."

Sunstreaker set down his tools while Bluestreak talked. 

"Come here," he said into the first pause.

Bluestreak obligingly went to stand before him. When Sunstreaker didn't do more than frown critically at his chest for a klik, Bluestreak added, "I promise to keep up my regular maintenance while I'm in Vos. You really did such a great job with my plating and I want to show it off."

That earned him a scowl. So this wasn't a final inspection and warning about his paint job. Bluestreak felt a little bad for thinking it was. Sunstreaker didn't share much about what was important to him outside of his appearance and his craft, but that didn't mean it was all he cared about or all that mattered to him.

"Here," Sunstreaker said. He flicked his hand and drew a small cube from subspace, cradling it between two fingers. Light refracted in rainbow colors along tightly the woven circuitry inside the clear plexiglass casing. Only the tiny black circle of a lens marked it as different from a standard data cube.

"A holoimager?" Bluestreak asked, "That's really nice, I don't have any more left since --"

"Listen," Sunstreaker said, cutting him off, "Sideswipe won't always be here to help you. If you run into trouble and can't get a hold of him any other way, use the contact code stored in here."

He uncurled his hand, extending the cube toward Bluestreak.

"The code will reset after one use, so make sure you only use it in a real emergency. I've locked the imager's hardline access to your signature, but I'm no programmer. Don't let anyone else get a hold of it."

Deeply touched, Bluestreak accepted the small device. 

"Thank you," he said and held out his hand, the data-ports along his wrist uncapped and exposed in offering.

Sunstreaker leaned back at the gesture.

Bluestreak wasn't surprised by his hesitation. It was rare for Sunstreaker to allow a hardline hook-up for anything other than pleasure-play and even then, he seemed to prefer it when Sideswipe was there to act as a buffer.

He eventually clasped Bluestreak's hand in a brief, perfunctory grip, without allowing a connection.

"Lock the door behind you when you leave," Sunstreaker said and turned away.

Bluestreak smiled without answering. He gave one last look around the workshop; at the racks of nanite tanks and bins of supplies and rows of tools mounted on the walls; at Sunstreaker's elegant frame bent intently over his craft, outlined in the bright glare from the overhead lights.

Then, Bluestreak led himself to the exit.

***

A scattering of mechs made their way up and down the wide corridor the Body Shop’s main entrance opened into. Voices, laughter, and snippets of music drifted over from the open-air market on the other side of the building, mingling with the roar from the overhead freeway. The neighboring shops stood open, but sparsely populated while the market was in swing.

Bluestreak followed the corridor out to a main street and walked from there to the train station.

The question of how he was getting to Vos had been unexpectedly answered when the Protection Forces issued him a driving restriction in the name of ‘Public Safety’. He could still walk his way to the border, but even he admitted that was taking his aversion to public transportation too far. After all, he’d only delayed a bus because of an attack that _one_ time and as a friend had pointed out, it was safer than if he had an attack on the road.

He was still upset about the restriction, of course, just not as much as he thought he would be. He’d been dreading getting one for over half-a-vorn, ever since his first major attack in public. A megacycle ago, he would’ve seen this as the final death knell of his independence.

It turned out, however, that Praxian laws were not enforced in Vos.

::It is still on your record,:: Bluestreak’s immigration agent warned after checking with the Vos Protection Forces, ::And will be taken into consideration should the Vos Forces have reason to re-evaluate your public safety status. Moreover, since you remain a citizen of Praxus, you have the right to be tried in a Praxian court of law, in which case all previous rulings will apply.::

Bluestreak had no intention of getting into that position. He had money again and once he was settled in with Thundercracker, he'd be able to hire a medic-programmer and begin fixing himself. As long as he was careful in the meanwhile, the Vos Protection Forces would have no reason to notice him at all.

The train ride to the Praxus-Vos border took about a joor, including stops. Bluestreak opted for a seat with a view and took the chance see his city before he left it for the next vorn. It made for a good distraction from his looming sense of dread and unease.

This particular route cut through the industrial district before skirting the edges of the upper class neighborhoods where Praxus's wealthiest and most influential citizens lived, then twisted around a commercial sector and dove down to the base levels of the residential district that butted up against the border zone. 

The upper class neighborhoods were especially scenic this part of the orn; sunlight caught and reflected off of artfully arranged crystals and mirrors, drawing splashes of color on the clean, square lines and geometric decorations of the surrounding buildings. Open-air courtyards and plazas ringed each structure, delineating them not only from each other, but the rest of the city built below. Seeing it, even for the brief moment the train traveled past, sent a hard pang of longing and nostalgia through Bluestreak. While not this neighborhood, he'd been raised in one similar and he'd always loved how it looked in the natural light. 

As the train went down into the lower levels, open spaces vanished and buildings became closely interconnected and lost any element of decoration or style. The residential units that housed working class and lower income communities were designed to be space efficient and functional above all else. They were also supposed to be clean, safe, and in decent repair, but Bluestreak had discovered that usually wasn’t the case. This neighborhood was even more worn down than most, likely because it was so close to the border.

Bluestreak was grateful when they passed it and pulled into the less disreputable train station that the marked the end of the line. He unloaded with the rest of the passengers and shuffled into a corner away from the flow of traffic to calm down and get his bearings. He had managed the journey without incident, but he still felt hyped up and shaky. It wouldn’t do to push himself.

He gave himself a few klik to be sure he was under control, and then contacted the stations' attending AI for directions to immigration processing. It was adjacent to the train station, only a short walk away. Almost there.

Oh, he hoped things went well with Thundercracker. It'd be terrible if he completely messed this up and got sent straight back to Praxus.

***

Bluestreak had known that Vos was built into a series of mountains and canyons that cut deep into the surface and under-levels of Cybertron. He had known that the Vosian models were predominantly air-frames and as such, required plenty of uncluttered aero-space for ease of travel. He had seen pictures. He had watched videos.

None of it prepared him for the physical reality of standing at the bottom of one of those canyons, dwarfed by the sheer vertical walls that stretched endlessly upward on either side and snaked off together into the far distance. 

There was no friendly latticework of roads or transport tubes connecting the sides of the canyon together or tying them to the shorter buildings arranged down the middle. There were no decorative structures or art pieces of either metal or light to break up line-of-sight. The only thing in that otherwise daunting openness was the Vosians themselves. They flew through their city on pathways of their own making; weaving, darting, and diving around and amongst each other in a stunning dance. Bluestreak had no idea how they weren’t constantly colliding, especially after watching a rotary-frame abruptly descend down through the two lanes of ‘traffic’ below it and miss hitting three other mechs by bare centimeters.

“Wow,” he said aloud, overwhelmed. 

An internal alarm beeped and caught him off-guard. In another breem, he was going to be late to his meet-up with Thundercracker. The location they’d picked was not far from the train station, in a shopping complex popular with Praxians who wanted to buy Vosian wares without paying for shipping or exorbitant taxes. Walking into it filled Bluestreak with an odd surge of guilt and fondness. One of his patrons, Quickwire, had been fiercely against her fellow citizens bringing duty-free purchases across the border and had lobbied to get tighter restrictions put into place. She would’ve been appalled that he –-

 _I should have expected that_ , Bluestreak told himself a klik later after a forced emergency reboot.

He found that he was crouching in front of a store display, just far enough out of the way of foot traffic to not cause a jam. He’d still caught the attention of several mechs, but thankfully, only two were coming over to check on him. The rest continued on past with a few backward glances.

Bluestreak straightened up from his crouch. 

“I’m fine!” he said, trying to sound confident rather than mortified, “I needed to correct a small malfunction, but I’m fine now!” He waved both hands as if that would somehow prove his state of well-being.

One of the mechs, a type of air-frame he wasn’t familiar with, nodded silently and went on their way. The other mech, a petite Class 50H Praxian, lingered.

“Do you need medical assistance or company while waiting for assistance?” the mech asked in polite concern, then added in a more casual tone, “I’d call for Protection Services, but Vosians never give a scrap unless you’re missing pieces or trying to take off someone else’s. You’d get help faster by heading back home.”

Bluestreak was immensely relieved to not have Protection Services called on him already. He told the mech he really was just fine and was supposed to meet up with someone who’d be very worried if he took any longer, then repeated himself twice with different wording just to be clear. The mech let him go then with a final request to be careful and Bluestreak hurried off.

That made three full attacks, and one partial, in only two megacycles. The most since he’d had since coming up with techniques to minimize them.

 _It’s because of everything that’s happened_ , he told himself, _the glitch isn’t getting worse, I’m just going through a big change right now_ , and used that thought to drown out the doubts clamoring in his processor.

The meeting place Thundercracker had picked was in a large building fronted by a colorful energy shield. Directly in front of the shield was a row of computer terminals that offered instrument rentals and quarter-joor, half-joor, and full-joor visit times in exchange for varying entrance fees. Bluestreak registered to pay, but as soon as he entered his ID tag, the display announced his fee had been covered. Thundercracker must have already arrived and taken care of it. How nice!

The establishment was lit by blue, green, and pink lights and divided into sections by semi-translucent walls. Bluestreak went down a row of sections until he found the one Thundercracker had gotten for them.

His new bond partner was just inside.

The same giddy rush Bluestreak had felt when they spoke for the first time over the video call went through him again. This was it. This was the start of... of something. Of something new and completely unknown.

Of maybe - hopefully not - a really big mistake.

Bluestreak took up a polite greeting stance in the entrance and infused his voice with every last bit of good cheer and positivity he could find in his spark.

"Hi! It's so good to finally be here and thank you again for agreeing to meet me, it really does make me feel better to have someone who's familiar with Vos lead me the rest of the way in! I'm really looking forward to learning more about your state-city and well, my new home now too, I guess."

Thundercracker turned silently to look at him. The seeker stood in a beam of pink light that gave his blue paint a violet hue and made his red optics even more intense. He was almost a meter taller than Bluestreak and twice that across, though most of that width was wingspan. As with Vos itself, Bluestreak had been aware of those details, but was unable to appreciate the sheer physical presence of them until just now. Thundercracker looked Bluestreak up and down with arms crossed over his chest and that now-familiar frown on his gray faceplates. Bluestreak made sure to hold his stance, even though he was certain his spark was going vibrate straight out of his chest plates from nerves. 

All of their conversations over the past megacycles had been text based and solely concerned with settling the details of their contract and Bluestreak’s residency. For all the technical details they knew about each other, they were complete strangers.

“Well,” Thundercracker said at last and huh, wow, those sonic vibrations were a lot stronger in person than over speakers. "You made it.”

He sounded resigned, though Bluestreak thought he was probably just tired or bothered about something else. After all, why would someone be upset about finally getting to be with the partner they’d put so much work and money into acquiring? 

“Yes, thank you so much for the clear instructions on getting here,” Bluestreak said, “They were very helpful and easy to follow.” He started to enter the enclosed space properly, but Thundercracker raised a hand to stop him.

“We’re not staying,” he said, “I’m only came here to collect you and get you back to my place. The sooner we can finish up your… orientation, the better.”

With that as his only warning, Thundercracker started walking toward the entrance. Bluestreak quickly stepped back out of the way.

“Oh, yes, right,” he said, keeping his voice bright. He'd been hoping to get to know his new partner better in a neutral space first, but if Thundercracker needed to rest, Bluestreak didn’t want to force him.

Thundercracker went past him at an angle to accommodate his wings and kept going on down between the sections and out of the building. He moved at a steady clip that forced Bluestreak to hurry to keep up. Back in the shopping center’s main thoroughfare, Thundercracker turned left, leading them the opposite direction from the way Bluestreak had arrived.

“It would be nice to get to your residence and settle in,” Bluestreak said, “Um, our residence, I mean. The trip here wasn’t too bad, but --”

“You need to know,” Thundercracker interrupted him, “That the roads in my area are restricted to medical and commercial use only. I looked into getting you an exemption license, but you won't be eligible until you’ve been a resident for three or four rotations. Roads near the borders have more access, but further in, you’ll have to rely on public transit.”

Bluestreak missed a step. "Wha-what? Restri-- that wasn't mentioned in any of the documentation!"

"Yeah?" Thundercracker said with a glance in the general area of Bluestreak's left sensor panel, "I'll be surprised if it was the only thing that got left off." He shrugged.

"Oh,” Bluestreak said, voice gone small with dismay. 

This was awful news! It never occurred to him that Vos would limit access to an entire section of their transportation network - the idea was completely absurd! What if the trains or buses were crowded or down? Or a mech needed to go somewhere that didn’t have a stop? Were they expected to walk? Was he going to have to walk everywhere? He’d made the trip here without any major trouble, sure, but having to depend on public transit in a foreign city-state, surrounded by judgmental strangers, was worse than being stuck back in Praxas with the driving restriction. At least Praxas was familiar, was full of friends and his same frame-type and not --

A pressure sensor pinged at him, jolting Bluestreak out of his spinning thoughts. He realized he was gripping his left shoulder tightly, fingers pressing into the same places Sunstreaker had only just removed dents from. He let go and darted a quick, nervous look at Thundercracker.

The other mech had gotten a few meters ahead of him and didn’t seem to have noticed that Bluestreak was falling behind. Seeing the back of Thundercracker’s wide and very obvious wings, Bluestreak almost laughed at himself. 

_Of course_ a region inhabited mainly by flyers wouldn’t care about wheeled mobility. It was a wonder they had any roads at all, let alone ones that Bluestreak would, eventually, be allowed to use. That thought calmed him down more than anything else. He wasn’t being permanently banned from driving and it wasn’t personal; all ground-frames in Vos were in the same situation.

He lengthened his strides to catch up with his partner and said, more in an effort to be pragmatic than anything else; "I hope nothing else important got left out. We'll both have to make do, I guess."

A grunt was his only answer. 

They’d reached a tall archway that marked the end of the shopping complex. Beyond it, the thoroughfare terminated into a sprawling transformation zone that was broken out into different sections. In front of them, a cluster of landing pads were marked with glowing circles and warning symbols, while to one side, mechs with wheeled alt-modes queued up to take turns merging onto the main road. On the opposing side, a group of mechs in the upper size classes loitered near holographic signs that declared “For Hire!” and “Scenic Tours!” in various optic-catching ways. Just beyond them, elevators and walkways took passengers to the train station on the level below.

Thundercracker hesitated in front of the landing pads long enough for Bluestreak to wonder if he intended to _personally_ fly them both home. It wasn’t an appealing prospect; tetra jets didn’t have passenger compartments, so he’d be stuck clinging to Thundercracker’s back while they rushed through the chaos of Vosian air traffic. Embarrassing at best and absolutely terrifying at worst.

Thankfully, Thundercracker turned away from the landing pads and headed to the “For Hire” section with its flashy signs. Bluestreak expected him to continue on past to the train station, but he marched up to a mech standing at the fringes of the group instead.

“Reservation one-delta-five-oh-eight for _two_ passengers,” Thundercracker said with strange emphasis and motioned Bluestreak to come closer.

The mech he addressed was a wide, squat model emblazoned with the same glowing blue logo that flashed on the nearest three signs. A set of rotary blades fanned out from behind their back at Thundercracker's approach and then jerked back down.

“Right, right,” the mech said in a high-pitched voice, “I remember that request coming through the other orn.” They pulled a datapad out of subspace and scrolled through it slowly.

“Let’s see, let’s see. One-way ride to 8-Artal, wasn’t it? Yeah, yeah, here we go. Any chance you two wanna to upgrade to a scenic tour? The only real way to see Vos is from the sky,” they added directly to Bluestreak.

“You’re hiring out flights?” Bluestreak asked, perking up with surprise and curiosity. He gave the transportation zone another quick visual sweep.

There wasn’t nearly enough space or runway for one of the big planes the commercial airlines used, not to mention such a machine didn’t seem practical for inner-city use. Maybe they had smaller ones stashed further out, or maybe --

“That’s right!” the service representative said and gestured grandly to the group of upper-range sized mechs waiting nearby, “Our employees are equipped to comfortably carry passengers in a wide range of sizes! They provide a secure ride and personal experience to which no piloted vehicle can compare! Plus, each one is a fully trained tour guide ready and excited to show you --”

“No tour,” Thundercracker said sharply. He stood stiffly with arms straight at his sides, armor clamped tight, and his frown pulled down even deeper before.

Wow, he had to be way more tired and stressed out than Bluestreak originally thought.

Their helper nodded energetically, apparently not bothered by Thundercracker’s rudeness. 

“Too bad, too bad, maybe some other time,” they said and tapped a sequence out on their pad. “There, all set! Your ride today is Astrotrain.”

“Of course it is,” Thundercracker muttered.

Astrotrain was a tall, angular mech in varying shades of purple, with half-circle shaped wings that eclipsed even Thundercracker’s in span. Like the mech that had been assisting them, he had the blue company logo adorning each shoulder. A big grin stretched his faceplates at the sight of them.

“My first seeker fare!” Astrotrain bellowed down, “What an honor!”

Thundercracker somehow managed to get stiffer. Bluestreak switched his attention between the two in bemusement. Did they know each other?

“I’m escorting my partner home,” Thundercracker said, his deep voice rolling across Bluestreak’s sensor panels with each word, “And we’re in a hurry.” He stared down Astrotrain with narrowed optics.

It was the first time Bluestreak had heard Thundercracker refer to him as his partner and it flustered Bluestreak more than he expected. He’d gone from “bond partner of” the legal phrase, to “my partner” the identifier, spoken in public to strangers. Logically, there was no deeper emotion or meaning between them than there was a nanoklik ago, but it felt like there should be. 

Sideswipe was going to give him the worst time over this.

“Well, then what are we all standing around for?” Astrotrain said with an expression of exaggerated shock and made urgent shooing gestures toward the landing pads. “Let’s get you two up in the air!”

The service representative’s cheerful and well-practiced company spiel followed them the short walk to the nearest landing pad. Astrotrain threw himself at the ground, his body folding inward and then blooming outward into the long cylinder shape of a shuttle. He bounced down lightly on his landing gear and slid open a door to invite them in. Bluestreak was disappointed that Astrotrain didn’t have any observation ports, but climbing into the passenger compartment revealed a display at the front of the cabin that was connected to three exterior video feeds. 

He settled down on one of the low benches that ran along either side of the compartment and strapped himself in with the harness that hung from the curved wall.

“Hey, Bluestreak, right?” Astrotrain’s voice echoed inside the cabin. “This your first flight?”

“Oh no, I’ve flown before. I used to travel to Crystal City from Protihex all the time, but never in a---it was only on piloted vehicles.”

“Bah, pilots! Nothing compares to a proper air-frame when it comes to flying, ain’t that right, Thundercracker?” 

There was a definite edge of mockery to the last question, obvious enough that Bluestreak’s backstruct went straight with tension. Either the two had a history, or there was some Vosian thing going on that Bluestreak didn’t understand.

On the bench across from him, Thundercracker folded his arms, shuttered his optics, and remained silent. Everything about his posture broadcasted ‘don’t talk to me’.

“See, he knows,” Astrotrain said with an easy-going laugh. The door slid shut and they rocked slightly as he moved. “All right, Praxian, optics on the monitor. You’re gonna love this view.”

An anti-gravity field snapped into place, causing Bluestreak to float up a few centimeters before Astrotrain’s thrusters engaged. The seat - and the entirety of Astrotrain with it - rose up after him. On screen, the main feed showed a bland stretch of pavement rapidly pulling back to reveal a top-down view of the transportation zone. The secondary feeds drew from cameras on either side of Astrotrain’s frame and showed the surrounding buildings dropping away as they ascended into Vos’s aerospace. The combined effect was delightfully dizzying. 

They were up high enough to see how the transportation zone formed a circle from which pathways spread out like spokes on a wheel, framing the buildings that curled around it. Up higher and Bluestreak could see the ring road that encircled the whole arrangement, then turned outward to encase a second collection of structures, like toothless gears fitted against each other along the base of the canyon. A second design emerged in the colors and patterns of the roofs, this one composed of rectangles and straight lines; a sharp contrast to the curvature of the architecture.

“Brace for acceleration,” Astrotrain said.

The anti-gravity field disengaged. The returned gravity yanked all of Bluestreak’s fluids down toward his feet, and then he was pulled sideways against the harness by Astrotrain rocketing forward. They soared down the length of the canyon, the patchwork of color and structure zipping along below them. Other air-frames -- planes, shuttles, rotaries -- kept pace with them to either side or blasted past, Astrotrain’s frame shuddering from the turbulence. Astrotrain turned in a wide, deceptively slow arc to face one of the canyon walls and began climbing. The wheeled patterns of the canyon floor cut off as they crested the ridge, revealing a more jagged and less orderly collection of towers and spires at surface level.

This new landscape went on a for a while longer, the ground below rising at a steady incline, before ending in the drop of a different canyon floor.

“Enthusiastic, aren’tcha?” Astrotrain asked, surprising Bluestreak into jumping. 

He realized he’d been commenting on the view out loud. He hunched his shoulders in embarrassment and snuck a peek at Thundercracker to gauge his reaction. The seeker hadn’t moved and showed neither awareness of nor irritation over Bluestreak’s thoughtless chattering. He forced himself to relax. It wasn’t first time he’d lost control of his vocalizer around Thundercracker and it most certainly wasn’t going to be the last.

“Um, yes, I’m really enjoying this,” he said for Astrotrain’s benefit.

“Glad to hear it,” Astrotrain said in a cheerful drawl. He did sound genuinely pleased, and even if part of that was for the sake of customer service, Bluestreak appreciated the sentiment. 

Astrotrain gave every sign of being a nice, friendly mech... when he wasn't talking to Thundercracker. It was a shame they didn't like each other.

They drew alongside a cluster of bubble-like towers that boiled up from atop the cliff edge. Astrotrain executed another turn, this one swinging them all the way around to slide in-between the towers themselves. The distant view of the canyon floor became the much closer image of a single wide roadway speckled with mech frames, and lined with decorative features. Energy shields and walls formed of synth-crystal shimmered and flashed to either side, the details of the structures growing clearer as Astrotrain dropped speed. Each tower was formed from dozens of flat-topped spheres. Some towers were narrow, with the spheres twined around each other so that their flat roofs created a stepped spiral all the way up, while others were arranged in stacked rings that grew narrower with each floor.

“Hey Thundercracker, which pad is yours?” Astrotrain asked, “I mean, I figure you got your own _private_ one, considering --”

“Drop us at the main entrance,” Thundercracker said, optics still shuttered.

“Roger that.”

A klik later, Astrotrain re-activated the anti-gravity field and descended slowly onto a much more compact version of the transportation zone they’d departed from. It sat at the base of one of the ring towers; one with bronze-stained windows and steel and gray colored support pylons. The first floor was completely open on this side, erasing any boundary between the landing area and in the building interior.

Astrotrain’s door snapped open the instant gravity returned. “And so ends our trip, safe and sound at 8-Artal. All out who’s getting out!”

Thundercracker was already pulling himself free of the cabin. Bluestreak took his time unhooking his harness with digits gone clumsy.

 _Home_ , he thought, _This is home now. I’ve done it. I’ve really left Praxus._

He took a full ventilation cycle, checked his logs to make sure there weren’t any unusual errors popping up, and followed Thundercracker out.


	4. Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bluestreak is given a tour and learns something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big, big thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos! It means a lot to know this story is being read and enjoyed. I hope the new chapter satisfies! All comments and criticisms are welcome.

“...and if you’re satisfied with my service, be sure to drop by my profile to leave a review.”

“I’ll be happy to,” Bluestreak said, nodding. He was already composing one, in fact, and added a note to get the company’s contact details from Thundercracker.

Speaking of… Bluestreak angled his sensor panels backward, anxiously trying to get a read on his partner’s location and possible actions, but the wind was moving the wrong way for it. He’d caught sight of Thundercracker heading for the lobby before being waylaid by Astrotrain and hoped that the other mech was waiting for him there. Getting left behind was becoming a theme.

“Check out the frequent rider discounts while you’re at it,” Astrotrain went on, “We’re rated best transport service among tri-state visitors and immigrants who find getting around Vos without wings a challenge.”

That caught all of Bluestreak’s attention. “Oh wow, that’s a great suggestion! I didn’t even know hiring rides was an option over here, but I’m glad to learn about it. I really haven’t been looking forward to using the train all the time.” He’d only had the past quarter joor or so to look forward to it, but that was long enough as far as he was concerned.

Astrotrain’s laugh had a sardonic edge. “You and every other grounder in Vos, my friend,” he said, “Hey, put in my designation when you sign up. I’ll knock some extra points off your fee _and_ show you around the best places for ground-frames in the city.”

“Thank you, that’s very generous,” Bluestreak said, tamping down his impulse to agree immediately. He was delighted to be making a new connection in Vos so quickly, but Astrotrain’s attitude and behavior toward Thundercracker left him a little wary. 

Granted, Thundercracker hadn’t be pleasant either and whatever caused the dislike between them may even have been his fault, but being rude to a mech in front of his partner and then turning around and making friends with that same partner _was_ a little tasteless. Bluestreak would have to think about it before initiating further contact.

“No problem,” Astrotrain said, “I like showing off my city to newcomers.” He rocked back on his landing gear and Bluestreak took it as a sign to wrap up the conversation.

“I’ll keep that in my processor,” he promised, “Thank you again for your service!”

After a few more polite exchanges, Bluestreak stepped back and, despite feeling a twinge of nerves at the increasing delay, stayed to watch Astrotrain’s initial take-off. He was familiar with the use of anti-gravity in lift tubes and freight transport, but mechs equipped with the technology were uncommon. He watched until Astrotrain was level with the tops of the tower, then left to find his partner.

It was a relief to spot Thundercracker waiting just under the roof of the lobby area. He stood off to the side, out of the way of potential traffic, with his helm down and optics dimmed, but not shuttered; a mech in the middle of an internal conversation. He straightened up when Bluestreak reached him.

“Thanks,” Thundercracker said gruffly, lifting his chin in the direction of the departed Astrotrain, “I don’t have the patience for small talk.”

“You’re welcome,” Bluestreak said, surprised, and felt his gathering irritation dissipate. He supposed couldn’t blame Thundercracker for not wanting to stick around. Even people who enjoyed making small talk weren’t excited to do it with a mech they disliked.

“I’ve got loads of patience for any kind of talk,” Bluestreak added with a grin, “I’m sure you’ve noticed!”

“Heh.” A smirk interrupted Thundercracker’s otherwise dour expression. “Yeah, I got that impression.” He turned away from Bluestreak to gesture out over the surrounding buildings. 

“This neighborhood,” he said, voice taking on a lecturing tone, “Is mainly government offices and residence for officials. There’s a few places to find entertainment, but shops, fuel stations, all the rest is down in the canyon.”

8-Artal sat in between two silver-blue spiral towers, with a wide-bottomed copper ring tower and two more spiral towers across the road from it. The small transportation zone they’d arrived in served as the forecourt for the tower. It had a few lighted rings for landing pads and artistic arrangements of rusted metal separating it from the terrace that wrapped around the other side. By contrast, the nearby road lacked any markings at all and had to serve mainly as a footpath, given the handful of winged mechs that stood casually chatting in the middle. 

“You'll be spending most of your time with me in 2-Artal, which is through there.” Thundercracker pointed down the passage that cut between the two spiral towers across from them. "That’s where most of the meetings are. I have to attend three or four a rotation, not counting whatever else Starscream decides to drag me into. Come on."

Further inside, the lobby was painted in pale colors to let the many light sculptures stand out and furnished with platforms of various heights. The effect was a little overdone and opulent for Bluestreak’s personal tastes, but he appreciated the quality of design. Vos apparently treated their government officials very well indeed.

“There are--”

"This is beautiful," Bluestreak said and was asking “Have you lived here long? I imagine it’s --” before he realized that he’d spoken right over Thundercracker. “Oh sorry, you go first.”

Thundercracker gave him a look Bluestreak couldn’t read. He seemed… surprised, maybe? Doubtful? Considering what happened the the last time Bluestreak went on a tangent, Thundercracker had to be shocked he knew how to stop himself at all. Bluestreak started to apologize again, both for his current gaffe and his past one, but Thundercracker continued his interrupted statement. 

“There are building rules you’ll need to pick up fast. My neighbors --” he frowned around the empty lobby and lowered his volume “-- are all a bunch of kinked wires. They’ll take any excuse to kick up a fight. I don’t want you giving them one.”

“Right,” Bluestreak said, nodding, “Where can I -- “

“I put together a data cube with all the information you need,” Thundercracker said without missing a beat. “Rules, door codes, passcodes, maps, everything.”

They’d reached a lift tube at the far end of the room. Thundercracker typed in a code to get it open, then stepped into the anti-grav field and pushed himself to the back wall to give Bluestreak space to enter.

Bluestreak went in after and gave him a smile. "I appreciate the work you’ve done to help me get my bearings.”

"Hmph. Better than explaining it all myself.” Thundercracker lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, but Bluestreak thought he wasn’t anywhere near as irritated or tense as he had been when they first met up.

Thundercracker flicked his hand to activate the lift computer and they were propelled up through the tube, a familiar soundless rushing past Bluestreak's audials and sensor panels. They jerked to a sharp stop at the seventh floor. Bluestreak used the handle to toss himself out feet first, dismounting into normal gravity with a _thud_. Like the lobby below, the hallway he stood in was heavily decorated, with lighted crystals reaching down from molded ceiling features and wall art alternating with the doors.

Thundercracker floated out of the lift tube and landed soundlessly at Bluestreak’s side. Maybe onboard anti-gravity generators weren’t as uncommon among Vosians as they were elsewhere.

"It's the third door up here," Thundercracker said. 

Another keypad with another code to get access, and the door opened into a short, blank hallway. The hallway to an empty room shaped in a narrow arch; the near wall featured a set of double doors, the far wall was a translucent bronze energy shield. A large, round balcony and the neighboring towers were visible through the shimmering haze. 

"This is the greeting area," Thundercracker said, back to the lecturing tone. He waved at the balcony. "That's the landing pad. I'll be using it more than the ground entrance. Same for any mechs I have over, all of whom I expect you to recognize by sight."

Set into the wall by the shield was a control pad and a monitor. Thundercracker tapped it with the back of his hand. "This opens the security force field to the landing pad. It's to stay closed unless you're letting someone in or retrieving deliveries from the drop box at the end. I can let myself in. There’s options for making the field opaque. I like it the way it is now and expect it to stay that way. Understood?"

"Understood," Bluestreak said. He had a bunch of questions, like who exactly was allowed to visit and was he going to be introduced to all of them or was he expected to memorize them from image captures and was he supposed to check with Thundercracker for authorization if he wasn't sure, but Thundercracker kept talking before he could verbalize any of them.

"There's supposed to be some sort of AI system for this, but it was messed with and now I don't trust it." Thundercracker gave the control pad a deeply suspicious glare. "I do everything manually. If you want to use the AI or reprogram it, that's your choice, but if my security system falls apart, I'll need an explanation."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll be careful.”

"As long as it keeps out everyone I don't want, I don't care what else it does. The rest of the residence is over here."

Beyond the double doors was a round room, as empty and plain as the greeting room. Cluster of lighted, wild-growth crystals were set into the walls at intervals, the only real form of decoration.

"The gathering room. Your visitors can come in here or in your room. No where else. These are the controls for the entertainment unit and the furniture." Thundercracker touched a red-framed square in the otherwise uniform dark-blue walls. It lit up with a menu. "There's a vid and music collection. Most of it isn't mine, so I couldn't tell you how good it is or isn't. You can add to it, if you want." He paged through the menu at seeming random and a square section of the floor rose into a two meter high platform.

Bluestreak came closer and could see, above the menu, the faint outline of a screen integrated in the wall. It looked like a high-end construction. Overall, the place was lovely; clean, perfectly maintained, and adorned in a simple, sparse style that was soothing to the optic. Much more to his tastes than the cluttered style of the building’s public areas.

"Games and instruments are stored under here." Thundercracker tapped the area under the controls. "Clean up and reset the floor whenever you're done in here." Another couple of quick commands on the panel and the floor returned to its original flat configuration. "Any -- hm. This way."

A different set of double doors opened into an entrance-lined hallway.

Thundercracker indicated the first door. “My room. There’s no reason for you to be in here.” He gave Bluestreak a pointed look. “Ever.”

“Haha, of course,” Bluestreak said, rubbing at his forearm plating to banish a sudden burst of self-consciousness.

The subject of interfacing hadn’t been addressed in either Thundercracker’s original ad or their finalized bonding contract. That wasn’t true with some of the other ads Bluestreak had responded to, like the one from Yus that was upfront about the level of frequency the mech was hoping for, or even the one from Iacon that went the extreme opposite and insisted on no physical contact under any circumstances.

Bluestreak didn’t have a problem with documented expectations for pleasure-play in a relationship -- at least, not any problem that he hadn’t talked himself out of. He wasn’t a stranger to causal interface, after all, nor would it be a burden to keep his cables to himself, and there were special legal protections for such stipulations regardless. But given the choice, he did prefer the subject being off the contract entirely. No expectations meant they could get to know each other and find out the usual way if it was something they wanted to explore or not.

Except that, unless he was misreading things, Thundercracker seemed firmly settled in the “not” category. Alright. That was fine. Probably for the best.

“If you need me for something when I’m in my room, don’t yell or knock; send me a comm. I will always answer.” Thundercracker pushed open and entered the next door. "My office."

It was a long, narrow room with a computer workstation set at the far end, where the energy shield extended around from the greeting area, and a wide counter running along the wall nearest the door. Various metal crafting tools were hung on the wall above the counter, along with bins of wire, bolts, metal patches and sheets, hooks, nuts, and pieces of mesh. Parts of some half-constructed device were scattered halfway across the surface. Thundercracker gave it a dirty look.

"You'll have limited access to my computer terminal. You can use these tools and spare parts for personal repairs or whatever else you want, as long you replace what you break or use up. Clean up when you're done, or I'll throw out whatever you left behind."

As if in illustration, he dragged a waste container out from under the counter and swept the incomplete project into it. 

Oh, well, maybe he hadn't liked how it was turning out. 

"You've got a nice set up in here," Bluestreak said appreciatively, "Is crafting one of your hobbies? I was trained in basic sculpture as part of my education, but I was never that good at it."

Thundercracker shook his head. "No crafting, I just don’t like going to the medic for every little thing.” He made a motion at the door, which Bluestreak took as a cue to move on. ”The maintenance station is on the other side of the hall. Keep your stuff out of there unless you're using it. A cleaning service comes in once a megacycle, but I don't want to be tripping over anything in the meanwhile. Your room is the next one over."

Much like the rest of the residence, Bluestreak's personal room was round, empty, and colored a dark, restful blue. The bronze energy shield terminated partway into the outer wall, serving as the only window. He hoped it was possible to turn his section of it solid without affecting the entire shield. The view was nice, but he liked privacy. The other walls lacked the crystal clusters of the gathering room, but were broken up with red lines and boxes, probably denoting either built-in storage or adjustable furniture. A single panel in the ceiling provided light.

"It's very nice," Bluestreak said, "I like the size."

It was almost as big as his entire apartment at Heavyswipe's complex and much nicer, giving him plenty of space to spread out. He could even put in a craft area if he wanted to get into old hobbies and didn't want to use Thundercracker's work space. Or a personal gathering area. And he could decorate! Not all at once since he had to be careful with his funds still, but the option was there. It'd been a long while since he was able to think about decorating.

Really, it had been a while since he was able to think anything beyond making it through each megacycle. He didn’t have to worry anymore about covering rent or being afraid of getting kicked out. He didn’t have to rely on the patience and kindness of his friends, or be constantly wondering who’s tolerance limit he was going to hit next. He was set. It still wasn’t an ideal situation, but he was already so much better off than he had been.

A bright, warm of relief feeling swelled in his spark, adding a bounce to his step as he walked the circuit of the room, getting a feel for his new place.

Thundercracker headed to one of the walls and triggered open a panel. Inside was a shallow recess holding a palm-sized cube. "Your computer terminal with dock and holoimager for the screen and control panels. Its ports should be universal. Let me know if you can't connect."

"I don't think it'll be a problem. But that reminds me, is there a charging dock?"

"Here."

A set of hooks were folded against the wall, blending in with the rest of the blue. Two were roughly at Thundercracker's chest height, while three were lower down. They were set in thin, barely visible tracks, suggesting that they could be adjusted. Thundercracker slid aside a panel between the upper two hooks to show rows of power sockets.

"Is that a wall mount?" Bluestreak asked, coming over to examine the available connections. Most of the sockets were unfamiliar, but a couple looked like they would work with his equipment. "I've never used one before. Are they comfortable?"

"No," Thundercracker said, "I'm not into shopping or design, so I didn't bother with this room. There's the dock, the terminal mount, and the door and window controls. That's it. You can do what you want with it short of installing furniture."

"Oh thank you! I doubt I would want to anyway. Not that inbuilt furniture isn’t lovely and efficient and I can--"

A large mass of air displaced against the back of Bluestreak's sensor panels, sending his tactile sensors into fits. He jumped forward in shock, almost slamming into Thundercracker, and spun around.

He came face-to-face with a seeker he'd never met before. The new mech was colored in purple and black, with broad, pale faceplates and red optics much like Thundercracker's. Said faceplates were twisted into what could only be called a pout. One hand was raised, with the finger extended, in Bluestreak's direction.

"Aww," said the seeker in a deep voice only a few decibels higher than Thundercracker's, "I didn't even get to poke you.”

Bluestreak stared at him, at a complete loss of words. His quick-response systems were still racing. Where in the name of Vector Sigma did this mech come from?

Thundercracker let out burst of air and said "Skywarp."

The name carried a world of resignation and exhausted, defeated tolerance. Thundercracker passed a hand over his faceplates. "Did you listen at all when I told you not to come by until later?" He asked between his fingers.

"No," the seeker -- Skywarp -- said. He smirked at Bluestreak. His face seemed rougher hewn than Thundercracker's, with minor scrapes along the edges and down the bridge of his nose, as though it was maintained with less care. Or perhaps it had been constructed that way. "Hey. I'm Skywarp. This used to be my room."

"No, it wasn’t," Thundercracker said before Skywarp's statement could work its way through Bluestreak's processor, "He kept his scrap here for a while, but _Skywarp_ \-- " he stressed the name, "-- has his own apartment."

"At least I was using it," Skywarp shot back.

He brushed past Bluestreak and Bluestreak had to step out of the way to avoid getting swatted by the broad wings. Unlike Thundercracker, Skywarp seemed oblivious to how much space he took up.

"This mech," Skywarp said and leaned against Thundercracker's shoulder, "Got the whole big place to himself and don't use it at all. I gave this room purpose.” He made a broad sweep with his arm and stared at Bluestreak. "When it was still mine."

Skywarp paused then, smirk still in place, apparently waiting for some sort of response. There were many things to be said about Bluestreak, but when it came to obvious conversational openings, slow wasn't one of them.

"I must say that I'm really shocked because Thundercracker had said that he didn't cohabitate, so I wasn't at all expecting or thinking that I would be shoving anyone out of the space they were used to using and I can see why you would probably be frustrated by that, it's really unfortunate, but still, it's nice to meet you, I'm Bluestreak and I'm--"

"Processor damaged or something," Skywarp interrupted, "Did any of that even make it through a logic filter or did you --"

"Skywarp," Thundercracker said.

"No, no, this is an important question. So do you have some kind of glitchy program that --"

"Skywarp," Thundercracker said even more sharply, "Go away. I'm not in the mood to deal with this scrap again." He shrugged the shoulder Skywarp was leaning against, dislodging him.

Skywarp straightened himself and held up both hands as if in surrender. "I'm only trying to get to know your new partner, Thundercracker. I mean, it’s common courtesy, seeing as how I _am_ your consort and all."

Bluestreak's processor stalled. 

All his carefully constructed thoughts and speculations about Thundercracker's decision to bond with him were completely shattered. He hadn't realized he'd been holding on to the stereotype that mechs who took contract-bonds were the sort who couldn't find companionship any other way. They were single, lonely, unwanted, socially awkward -- which Thundercracker did seem to sort of be, in a grumpy kind of way -- and on the whole, inept in the realm of emotional connection.

That Thundercracker had a consort before the bonding, one who had practically been a live-in... Bluestreak didn't know what to think about Thundercracker's goals anymore.

"I haven't shorted out that mess you call a hard drive, have I? Praxians aren't backwards, are they?" Skywarp demanded. He leaned against Thundercracker's shoulder again, earning himself a dirty look. "They can have consorts as well as partners, right? I mean, you aren't _Iaconian_ or anything," he added with contempt.

"I don't think Iaconians have an issue with that either," Bluestreak said, "And no, I'm just surprised." 

Steadily, his training in dealing with uncomfortable social situation kicked in. His posture straightened, his sensor panels spread, his tone grew formal. As shock faded, deeply ingrained politeness took its place.

"Thundercracker hadn't mentioned any consorts or other relationships so it caught me off guard. It is a pleasure to meet you, Skywarp. Since you are an important part of Thundercracker's life, I hope we will be able to get along peaceably."

He inclined his upper torso in a bow.

Skywarp's expression shifted, showing a flicker of disappointment before dark humor re-emerged. "Oh, I bet we'll get along just --"

Thundercracker jerked away, almost spilling Skywarp to the floor. He grabbed his consort’s shoulders and, ignoring the yelp, hauled Skywarp toward the door. "Out. Now."

He shoved Skywarp into the hall, triggered the door closed, and rapidly typed something into the control panel.

"I can still warp back in!" Skywarp shouted through the door. There was a pause as Thundercracker finished what he was doing with the panel, followed by a furious, "Hey! You slagger, that's not fair!"

Bluestreak, watching this interaction, wondered if Skywarp's attitude had anything to do with Thundercracker bringing in an outside partner or if this dynamic was purely a Vosian thing. 

After a long moment of staring at the now silent door, Thundercracker let out a deep vent of air and dropped his wings, drawing Bluestreak's attention to how they'd been straining upward. 

"I've secured a disruption field around your room. It should keep him from teleporting in unannounced."

"Thank you," Bluestreak said reflexively, "Is that how he got in earlier? Teleporting?"

Thundercracker grunted in what Bluestreak was starting to recognize as an affirmative. 

"I should’ve set it before you arrived. He doesn't like to listen." Thundercracker caught Bluestreak’s optic and said seriously, "Skywarp agreed with me getting a partner. He wasn’t happy about it, but he agreed to it, so it’s his problem, not yours. Tell me if he causes trouble or interferes with your duties and I’ll deal with him.”

"I will, thank you," Bluestreak repeated. How else was he supposed to respond? Sideswipe's earlier warnings were coming back to him.

It was true, he hadn't know what sorts of conditions "these mechs" lived in and he'd been too distracted by the thought of them being in dangerous neighborhoods or unsafe housing to consider that his warning could include friends, associates, and companions that may be negatively disposed against Bluestreak’s presence. He felt stupid for not considering it.

Thundercracker’s faceplates relaxed, his frown becoming less severe. “Skywarp will get over it,” he said, voice almost reassuring, "Just do your best to not let him get to you. For now, I'm going to leave you to get settled. The rest of the orn is yours, but I expect you to be ready to accompany me at the start of my next work cycle." 

He hesitated, seemed to brace himself, and asked, "Any questions?"

A chunk of Bluestreak's unease melted in the face of Thundercracker's steady, calm nature and he found himself saying before he could think twice about it; "Yes, I do have one. I'm really curious about why you wanted a contract-bond, because I didn't expect you to already have a relationship. Considering everything I've heard about how most mechs don't get contracts unless they're single and, and…” He stumbled, realizing he was implying something pretty rude, “Well, I mean, I’m super grateful and I know this will be a good arrangement for both of us, I’m just -- I’m just wondering.”

Thundercracker’s previous relaxation immediately reversed. "I drew the short wire. That it?"

"I --" What did that even mean? Was it something Thundercracker didn’t want to do? Could he have been forced? But why? That didn't make sense at all! Why--

A scatter of error message flashed across Bluestreak's HUD and his joints protested as he tightened all of them in a panic.

"Yes, that's it, I'm done," he rushed out, desperate to be alone.

Yet another grunt and Thundercracker was gone.

***

Sunset bought an increase in traffic streaming in and among the towers; the myriad of vehicles adorned in streaks of warm orange that faded to the cooler whites and blues of artificial light.

When he was feeling calmer, Bluestreak went to the window to better take in the view. His window was set where Thundercracker’s balcony ended and the neighbors’ balcony began, allowing him to watch two planes land next door and be greeted by a tall, thinly built mech of a frame he didn’t recognize. They transformed and walked together out of sight before Bluestreak could look away to give them privacy.

He peered upward, taking in the broad abyss of the evening sky as it deepen from orange-yellow to pale blue to the light pollution stained brown of nighttime. One of the moons hovered alongside the upper floors of the nearest tower, a hazy crescent occasionally shot through with the shadow of a passing mech.

Bluestreak stepped back and located the window controls. The system was familiar and easy to navigate and in a nanoklik, he had the force field flushed a misty blue to match the walls, blocking most of the view while allowing the pleasant glow of the exterior lights through. All at once, the room became much more comfortable and less unsettlingly exposed. The control panel's datajack was a match for the one in his pinky and he tried to see if he could access the residence's AI. It would be convenient if he could manage his room's electronics through remote or better yet, train them to automatically conform to his preferences. The system quickly kicked him out for not having the right security access, which reminded him of the datacube from Thundercracker and the computer terminal he still needed to configure.

Both were in the recessed storage area Thundercracker had shown him. He fit the datacube into the port in his arm, set it to download, and plugged into the terminal with finger-tip jacks.

The terminal had a basic security system and a simple AI installed. After getting the system coded to him to prevent anyone else from accessing and tampering with it, he uninstalled the AI and replaced it with a copy of the one he’d used back when he still had equipment that required AIs. It was technically way more sophisticated than what was needed for a personal computer terminal, since it was a variation of the one that had ran the home he shared with his patrons, but it was familiar. He wanted familiar more than anything else right now.

While that installation ran, he absorbed and sorted through the information in the datacube. Thundercracker had been thorough; way more thorough than his taciturn nature suggested.

There were maps with key areas highlighted, including fuel stations for ground-frames and repair facilities, the promised building rules and procedures, summaries of significant Vosian laws with links to access more details, Thundercracker's work and personal schedules by orn, megacycle, rotation, and vorn, as suspiciously sparse and occasionally contradictory as they were, audio and visual feeds noted as being "for practice" along with instructions for how Thundercracker wanted him to analyze, comment on, and file them, schedules for Starscream and Skywarp, instructions on how to handle visitors, solicitors, packages, cleaning, and what Thundercracker expected of him on the rare occasion he had to host parties either in or outside the residence, various security authorizations and pass-codes for the residence, Thundercracker's work terminals, places Bluestreak hadn't been to… in short, absolutely everything he would need to settle into his new home and duties.

If only it wasn't all such a _mess_.

There was no index to allow quick access to key information, nevermind a cross-index, and many files and folders lacked summaries, tags, or even informative names. Nothing was sorted rationally; a map of 2-Artal was in the same folder as several pass-code memos, while a series of reference documents was needlessly buried three folders deep in the same section as Starscream’s schedules, as if they’d been copied wholesale from another filing system.

Bluestreak had no idea how someone as prompt and meticulous as Thundercracker had been during the bonding process could be this disorderly with his personal data.

“Maybe he really did just need a personal assistant,” he said aloud to the empty room. 

He thought about how abrasive Starscream and Skywarp were, how Thundercracker was so reserved and unfriendly as to offend anyone not used to it. Bluestreak could think of few mechs who’d willing put up with the three seekers long-term. The idea that Thundercracker needed a contract-bonded partner just to have an assistant that couldn’t be driven off by his boss and consort had Bluestreak giggling, albeit guiltily.

“What a mess,” he said, echoing his earlier thought. He scrubbed his hands over his helm, feeling little zaps of energy discharge from the stress. 

Almost nothing had gone the way he’d anticipated. His partner barely seemed to want him and his partner’s consort blatantly didn’t. The driving freedom he’d looked forward to was considerably lacking and now, there was doubt that the bonding had been in Thundercracker’s interest at all…

“Oh, so what?” he demanded of himself. Did it actually matter all that much why or even _if_ Thundercracker genuinely wanted a contract-bond? Bluestreak certainly hadn’t, so if Thundercracker was acting out of necessity or at someone else’s request, didn’t that just put them on the same road?

Of everything that had gone wrong this orn, what bothered him the most was Thundercracker not letting him know about Skywarp. Sure, he wasn’t legally required to reveal all his other relationships to a contracted partner, but it was inconsiderate and hinted at a willingness to hide other information that could impact Bluestreak’s life. He would have to confront Thundercracker about it.

Later. Once they’d both gotten the chance to unwind.

A friend pinged him with a comm request then, wanting to know if the Vosians had changed their processors and turned him back at the border. He was grateful for the distraction. 

Soon, three other friends had joined the conversation and were pestering him for his impression of Vos and videos of his first meeting with his new bondmate. He gave them a slightly edited version of events out of courtesy to Thundercracker and found himself wishing he’d left out Skywarp entirely when the revelation of Thundercracker having a consort led to a flurry of questions he was reluctant to answer. They were already suspicious of him bonding a Vosian in the first place and admitting that he hadn’t known about Skywarp beforehand would’ve aggravated the situation. Finally, he inquired into their recent activities instead and they obligingly switched the subject. They kept him company while he unpacked and stored his belongings and after two of his friends disconnected, he played word games with the remainder until it was time for recharge.

It was a welcome reminder that he wasn’t completely isolated in a strange new city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Time Units:**
> 
>  
> 
> A joor is 1 and 1/4th hours  
> A shift is 10 hours  
> An orn is 60 hours  
> A megacycle is 12. 5 days, just shy of two weeks  
> A rotation is 60 day, or 8.5 weeks  
> A breem is 8.3 minutes.  
> A klik is just over a minute.  
> A nanoklik is a second.


End file.
